Healer, Killer
by Amanda Swiftgold
Summary: Chapter Fifteen, Part Two: During the fight to destroy Mayfil's generators, Syuveil, Damia and Belzac must face vengeful souls and visions of the past...
1. Chapter One

Standard Disclaimer: I don't own the characters found in Legend of Dragoon, or the idea of the Dragon Campaign; these belong to Sony, and I just adore them from afar. However, the storyline, the character histories, and the other minor characters were created by me. Please don't use any of these without permission, but if you ask I probably won't say no.

Author's Note: Hello! I'm writing this fic because the former Dragoons fascinate me, especially Kanzas, who seems so out of place within the idea of Humanity's revolution against the Winglies. How was Shirley able to persuade him to join the Dragon Campaign, and what is the connection that holds him there? That's what this is going to be about.

Kanzas is younger in this than he actually is in the game, but since they never gave ages or anything in-game, I'm sure you can cope, hehe. Anyway, there's language (minor), violence/gore (especially), and some sexual themes, so if this stuff offends you, beware!

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter One

_The darkness, thick and heavy, is held back by candleglow. Scentless incense fogs the air, the low firelight casting a dancing golden blush across rows of figures, clay and cloth, faceless. There are so many of them arranged there, voiceless remainders of hundreds of crumpled corpses. They watch over him - they are there for him, because no one else is there for him._

_There is no one else at all._

_For eleven thousand years he has haunted this tower; for over four million days he has waited. His fists, clad in the ghost of armor, ache; each small doll upon the shelves cries for a new companion. His rasping undead voice calls through the candlelight into the blackness that is ready for him, the terrifying blackness to which he has sent so many others. He cannot go; he will not go, because one more victim still awaits his violent release. One more, two more… more and more and more._

_"Anybody… just satisfy me…"_

* * *

Screams pierced the night repeatedly, the only sort of alarm the household would receive. The Wingly woman called Jolene paused in tucking a blanket up around the form of her sleepy young son, her eyes flying wide. Pressing her hands to her face, she ran from the small bedroom and into the alcove at the end of the hall, peering fearfully through the glass. 

What she saw there made her pull back sharply - the bodies of two of the family's Human slaves, bleeding bright red pools on the path, the front gate open and the magical drones which were to have guarded it also lying mangled on the ground. "The bandits!" she cried out, taking two steps forward before turning and moving slightly the other way. "Oh no, oh no…"

"Mother?" the child's voice called from his room. The entire house seemed to shake, the front door sounding as if it was being bent inward by the sudden assault. "_Mother_!"

"I'm coming!" Pulling her long, silky skirts up out of her way, the silver-haired Wingly turned firmly back toward the small bedroom, but the buzzing noise of the teleporter at the end of the hall stopped her short.

She threw her arms out as if to bar the way into the room, but instead of the fearsome Human she expected, the figure of her husband appeared, a blood-streaked sword in his hand and his translucent, glowing wings jutting from his back. "Riyan!" she cried, running to him, but he held out a hand to halt her. "How did they get past the defenses?"

He stepped forward, shaking his head. "No time - Jolene, take the boy and fly-"

The teleporter sparked green, making its grating sound as it spat its occupant out onto the pad. The Wingly man didn't even have time to turn around as long metal claws, attached to a tightly-wound fist, drove hard into the side of his neck. Blood ran from four points protruding through the other side, barely visible before they were pulled out.

Jolene screamed, scrambling back into her son's bedroom even as her husband's body fell to the floor, revealing the muscular Human dressed in rags that stood behind him, Riyan's lifeblood spattering his fist and chest. "Only three," she heard him say in a hoarse voice before she slammed the door tight and turned the latch to lock it.

Rhythmic pounding sounded on the wood as she gathered her young child up in her arms, breathing heavily in an attempt to stay calm. Frightened, the boy whimpered and clung to her tightly as she looked at the plate-glass window, her hand shaking as she tried to trace the correct magic sigil and cast a wind spell to break it open.

The sound of splintering wood rang throughout the nursery, and she backed up into the corner, her son's small bed between her and the Human breaking through. The loud sound of the window shattering nearly blocked out the noise of the latch giving way, the metal piece swinging wildly as the door slammed completely open.

Jolene let her wings free, curling her body over her boy as she launched away from the wall, the night air that streamed in through the window rushing strongly past her. She was almost there, she noted breathlessly, but her hope was stopped abruptly by a sharp tug on her ankle and the feeling of a large, rough hand pulling her backward, the momentum slamming her into the far wall.

Plaster fell around her as she collapsed to the floor, her head whirling, her only thought the knowledge that she was still holding her son. "Run - run!" she whispered to him, giving him a shove away from her and watching him crawl tearfully under the bed.

Looking up, the Wingly saw the Human man standing above her, regarding her with a terrifyingly blank gaze. What she'd thought was Riyan's blood was actually oozing from a shallow gash across his chest, a wound her husband had probably caused, though it didn't seem to have really hurt him. "Please," she begged, clasping her hands together in front of her. "Please, you can have anything you want, just don't kill us!"

"I'll have both," he answered calmly, and her sobs increased as her feet scrabbled against the floor, as if she was trying to push herself through the wall.

Shaking her head frantically, Jolene wailed, "Why? What did we ever do to you?" She hid her hands beneath her pulled-up knees now, letting the fabric of her skirt mask the pattern of the spell she was casting.

However, before she could finish, before she could even blink, he'd lurched forward, his fingers wrapped around her neck. The Wingly woman squeaked, forced to gasp for breath. "You did nothing," he told her, sudden sparks flashing in his eyes. "You're just here. That's all the reason I need."

"But I… I don't want… to die…" She squeezed her own eyes shut tightly, her nails digging into the flesh of his arms.

"You will not be alone there." In one swift second, he snapped her head back, breaking her neck. Pulling his hand back, he dragged the point of one of the claws he wore across the exposed skin of her throat, watching with a rapt expression as the thick, bright red fluid seeped up and began dripping from the gash. Cradling the Wingly woman's body in one arm as if holding a baby, he pressed his hand to the wound, feeling the rivulets of blood running between his fingers, staining the already-dirty skin a reddish hue.

Momentarily leaning his face into the silver curls of her hair, the Human man let the body drop, drawing himself up to his feet. "Four," he breathed aloud, almost unthinkingly sucking the smeared red fluid from one fingertip.

His gaze fell on the rumpled sheets of the child's bed behind him, and, stooping, he caught the curving edge of the bed frame, flipping it over and away to reveal the young boy with platinum hair who had been huddling underneath…

* * *

Glass sprayed across the wooden countertop in the manor house's kitchen as one Human man struck a jar down on the edge. Dipping his grimy fingers into the preserves he'd just revealed, he shoveled a handful of the loganberry jam into his mouth, sighing happily. Around him, other gaunt figures were raiding the larder and cupboards, tossing whatever food they could find out into the center of the room. 

One of the older bandits swatted at his fingers, a scowl on his face. "Hey now, all ya, stop the eatin'! We gotta get this loaded up an' outta here before them Wingly guards come!"

"Yeah, well," another griped, shoving loaves of bread into a sack, "we can't go till the boss gets back, so we might as well get a mouthful or two in. I wish he wouldn't go around slittin' them girls' throats first off like that; I ain't had a woman in months!"

"You ain't never had a real woman," came the rejoinder, followed by a round of low, unpleasant laughter.

There was a clattering noise as the older man shoved a jar across the counter toward one of the others. "Gripe if ya want, but get in his way an' he'd cut _yer_ throat instead," he warned, his frown barely visible through his thick, tangled beard. "Kanzas is more 'n a bit peculiar, it's plain as the nose on yer face."

Another of the thin men snorted derisively, throwing a burlap sack full of dried meat and spice bottles onto the pile of goods. "I say he gets his jollies from doin' it, me. 'S why he kills Human slaves too, 'stead of just the Wingly bastards we raid."

"Mebbe so," the older one said grudgingly. "But he joined the gang as a young'n, ya know, escaped from his owner, and back then word was his old master messed him over real good. So it's all the Winglies' fault, same as ever."

"Ya," one of his listeners agreed, repeating the statement they'd all learned to make as children: "it's all because of them, all our troubles."

The sound of heavy footsteps near the doorway made the small group raise their heads in unison and reach for hidden daggers, looking around for the intruder. However, the voice reached them before its owner did, and they all perceptibly relaxed, almost as if they'd been encompassed in some kind of sphere of protection, though an undercurrent of tension remained.

"Six… no, seven, I almost forgot… and eight." Looking around the doorframe, Kanzas poked his head into the kitchen long enough to toss a handful of something onto the counter; golden chains and rings jangled together as they hit. "That's almost it. Hurry up," he said with a short grin, "we've got to get out of here."

Grabbing eagerly for the golden trinkets, the oldest one nodded deeply to the younger man as he shoved them into hiding spots inside his ragged vest. "Sure thing, boss, sure thing," he answered slimily, almost too quickly. The wild-haired man, however, simply returned the nod and moved on past the doorway again.

The darkened room was silent as the bandits finished their looting, though one voice said quietly, "I really wish he wouldn't count 'em like that."

"Just keep yer trap shut! I swear, we're all more 'fraid of '_im _than the Winglies sometimes," another returned, he too speaking more softly than usual.

The bags rustled as the footsteps returned, but before the men realized there was more than one set, the outside door to the kitchen was flung open, Wingly soldiers crowding through. "Stop there!" one bellowed, the order going unheeded as the bandits grabbed what they could and fled inward through the house, scattering.

However, none of them got very far, finding the house surrounded by armed men. One by one, the bandits were taken down by the Winglies' spells, until only one was left barely alive.

He was dragged out onto the front lawn, and the commander of the troops stepped forward, crossing his arms as he looked at the thin Human hanging from the hands of two of his men. "Where is your leader?" Commander Arturo asked him coolly. "He was supposed to be here to… 'stop' us."

All the panic had left the Human as he realized that he, like the others, wasn't going to make it out. The ambush had gone so well that it was clear now they'd been followed, that it had been planned for their gang to be wiped out here. "If he's not here, he's with the dead," he answered wearily. "And so'll be anyone who goes after him."

"Interesting," he responded slowly. "Very interesting. Men, please, relieve him of his burdens."

As the two guards moved to strike the bandit and finish him, another came flying down from above, his wings shimmering into nothingness as he landed in front of the Wingly commander. "Sir, upstairs," he began his skin very pale in the moonlight, "the bodies of the landowner, his wife and child - and two of our men, sir!"

"Ah," Arturo acknowledged, drawing his sword from the sheath on his belt. "So, he _is_ still here." Releasing his wings, he shoved off into the sky, followed by the soldier as he flew in through the broken upstairs window, landing lightly in the midst of a room that looked as though it had been hit by a tornado.

Sword raised and glinting dully, the silvery-blue-haired man and his subordinate turned to scan the area, his eyes flickering without emotion across the sprawled bodies on the floor. "Human, show yourself."

There was no response as the two moved slowly, no other motion until, with a quick hitch of breath and a gagging noise, the soldier crumpled nearly in half, blood spraying from the deep slashes gouged across his throat. His fingers flying, the commander traced a darkness spell and cast it into the shadowy area just behind the fallen Wingly.

He was rewarded with a hissing cry and sudden swift movement as the Human launched himself from his hiding spot, his clawed fist clanging against the commander's sword, the blade sliding between two of the long claw-pieces. Arturo twisted the blade, locking Kanzas' hand there, but he wasn't ready for the blow to his chest that came from the other fist, or the knee that slammed up into his gut.

Spinning away, the Wingly gasped for breath, but he was already starting the sigil for another spell. A misty shadow seemed to wrap itself around the Human's arms, clinging to his skin, and Kanzas' dark amber eyes widened. His arms felt as though they didn't exist anymore, simply hanging at his sides no matter how hard he tried to move them. "Arm-blocking," he snarled, "what a wonderful trick."

"Murdering Human bandits receive no honor in the chase," Arturo informed him in clipped tones, "and one must always be prepared, facing something like you." A moment later, more soldiers arrived through the door on the other side, having come up using the teleporter. "Take him into custody," he ordered, waving a hand toward Kanzas.

He only put up a token struggle as the guards dragged him into the green energy and then through the front door of the sacked manor, not even seeming to notice the corpses of the other bandits he had led here earlier in the night. It was as if a strange calm acceptance had fallen over him, the realization that he would probably end up dead as a result of this.

The soldiers' small encampment was just outside the farm manor's now-pointless perimeter wall, and besides the troops the only thing there was a large, movable teleporter used to transport them. He was forced onto this, and he, the three guards surrounding him, and Commander Arturo were instantly moved into some sort of headquarters, where the Wingly commander had his office.

"They were starving, if it means anything to you," Kanzas spoke up suddenly, his numbed arms pulled behind him and locked into tight iron manacles. He kept staring straight ahead, his voice without emotion.

Arturo smirked, moving behind his desk and sitting down in a high-backed cushioned chair. "Not a thing."

"I didn't think so," he murmured, almost automatically kicking back a little as a soldier moved to fasten leg irons on his ankles. Another quickly grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling back sharply until the job was done. The chains clanked loudly as the soldier gave him a shove, sending him falling awkwardly to his knees.

"Thank you, men; you are dismissed." When the door to the office had closed, Arturo smiled thinly, taking a look at his captive. "Now, what is to be done with you?" the Wingly mused slowly, tapping a finger against his lips. He brushed long silvery-blue strands of hair from his eyes before leaning forward, resting his chin on folded hands. "The obvious choice is to send you to Zenebatos for execution."

"So, then do it," Kanzas suddenly snarled, lifting his own chin sharply. "Get it over with!"

Calmly, Arturo extended his hand, tracing a mark in the air invisibly. Flashes of shadow sparked up around the bound man, driving spearpoints of pain through his skin. "How ironic," he murmured, his voice low, almost lost beneath the sound of Kanzas' cry of pain, "a murderer begging for the mercy he denies his victims."

He spat at him, though the glob of blood-streaked saliva didn't even get near the polished surface of the desk. "At least I don't toy with them. At least I don't kill little by little, like you people do your slaves. At least I'm not a damned torturer! And I do _not_ beg, you sorry sack of shit!"

The commander gave a little bark of laughter, sitting back in his seat and regarding Kanzas with raised eyebrows. "And now I have the fortune of hearing a murderer trying to justify his crimes!" he declared in tones of disbelief. "There is a great difference between the treatment of slaves and your casual killing."

"I justify nothing," he retorted, glaring balefully. His face drew into a sneer, his lips a tight line almost lost against the paleness of his skin. _The arrogance of Winglies, _he thought fiercely. "But you're right - what I do is better than that."

Arturo leaped from his chair, his fingers nearly trembling too much to weave the spell before him. His eyes almost seemed to glow with pleasure as another wave of darkness descended around his captive and driving, acidic rain pierced his flesh.

The scream left Kanzas' throat involuntarily, his arms pulling vainly at the restraints holding them behind him. Losing his balance, he fell hard to his side on the office's wood floor, curling up slightly and trying to catch his breath as the magical assault ceased.

There was stillness as the Wingly watched his reaction carefully, smoothing his hair back once more, and the Human man licked his lips for a moment, still feeling the remnants of the choking blackness on his tingling skin. "Temper, temper," Kanzas rasped, shoulders shaking with morbid amusement.

Footsteps sounded, boots on the hard floor, and then Arturo's foot pressed down onto his neck, the weight of him increasing steadily. "Every race has its ignoble killers," he began, his voice regaining its calm, "even ones created as peaceful as Humans. Its portions of rot and decay, you might say. They kill for many reasons - jealousy, avarice… ignorance. What is _your_ reason, Human disease?"

Chuckling slightly, Kanzas closed his eyes, feeling the coolness of the wood beneath him soak up through his skin. The Wingly commander let his foot up a bit to allow him air to speak with. "You, Wingly soldier," the man said, giving the words the same disgust as Arturo had used, "think you fight… for noble reasons. Have you… ever felt blood… as it is running through your fingers?"

"I do not enjoy the deaths that must be caused!" he snapped back. "A soldier does what must-"

"I _love_ it," Kanzas whispered, his harsh voice steady now. "I feel a beautiful life running through my hands, and I know _there must be more_-"

His voice was cut off sharply by the foot delivering a sharp kick into his stomach, another following swiftly. "Human swine!" Arturo hissed in revulsion, his foot flying forward again. Kanzas simply bit his lip, grunts of pain escaping with each strike. "The darkest, loneliest hell of Mayfil waits for you!"

He laughed, the sound startling enough that the Wingly stepped back, his eyes wide. "Even in Hell, never alone," the russet-haired man declared. "They will all be waiting for me - they will never forget me - their hate will last for eternity, and there _will_ be more!"

"Feh," the commander spat, spinning on his heel to return to his desk. "It is clear, it is quite clear, that a swift execution is too good a fate for you."

"Aw, too bad for me," Kanzas jeered, feeling rather disappointed when the bait wasn't taken this time. _He was such a good target till now…_

Arturo took a deep breath, settling back in his chair once more. "You'll be sent to Mekadris and sold in the slave auctions there as a gladiator," he decreed finally, a bit taken aback by his prisoner's sudden intake of breath.

"I - will - not!" Kanzas answered in a clipped voice, the words almost oddly trembling. "I will - never - be a slave again!" He tried vainly to twist into a sitting position, the beads of sweat on his neck and temples feeling weirdly cold. He'd known since he had escaped his last master that there was always a chance he would be captured again, but he would have never thought the Winglies would keep him alive after what he'd done.

"You are in no position to make demands," the commander informed him, noticing the strange panic his words had stirred within the man. "No - in fact, you've cleared me of all my misgivings about this course of action." His smile growing coldly, he went on, "Yes, in the arena at Kadessa you will learn what it is like to have your own heart in someone's fist. You will learn fear, you will learn humility, you will beg for mercy, and you will die as the spectators around you scream for joy!"

_I am free,_ he thought to himself, trying to stop shaking. _I am free, I will always be free. No one will own me again. No one will. _"No," Kanzas answered softly, his eyes closing as he pressed his face against the floor. "I will never die by another's hand - mine are the only bringers of death…"

"You are scared," Arturo deemed, looking down his nose at him. "Good… that's very good. I want you to know how it feels before you meet your end."

* * *

"I can't stand this place, Belzac," the red-haired woman murmured fervently, rubbing her hands together under her cloak as if for warmth, although the noonday sun was beating down on them strongly. She reached for the chain around her neck, enfolding her fingers around the small silvery-white orb that hung there. 

The huge man next to her gave her a sympathetic look, placing one large hand on her back briefly. "Then let's not waste time," he said gently before reaching to pull a gray hood up over his own head, hiding his features from both the sun and any onlookers. "We'll get home before we know it."

The woman nodded, her own strides lengthening as his shortened, providing an easy pace for the both of them as they passed beneath a marble archway and into the large square of the Mekadris city slave market. Shouts and bellows of traders filled Shirley's ears, a common enough sound, although now they were not the cries of farmers selling vegetables. Humans were being sold here, auctioned like any other property on top of long stages.

There was a different feeling in the air today, Belzac noticed, his gaze sweeping far across the market square, taking in the silvery tops of Wingly heads along with the more muted Human colors dotting the crowd. Something was going to happen - he knew it in his blood. _I wonder if Shirley would agree, _he mused, saving the thought for later.

The slaves on the block were above the crowd to be seen, more at his eye level, and he quickly picked out the figure of a small girl being roughly shoved up the stairs onto the auction stage not far from where they stood. "This way," he said quietly, resting his hand on Shirley's shoulder to direct her. After a moment's hesitation, he left it there, smiling inwardly with relief when she let him.

Visiting the slave markets had become almost a routine for the two, who had both been slaves once but had since been freed. Shirley and Belzac had both been bought by a Human named Diaz, and in his service they traveled here to buy others free of slavery. Though they had been instructed to find fighters especially, Belzac had a soft spot for children and often chose to purchase them above any others.

Knowing this, Shirley shook her head, smiling a sad smile as they approached the auction for the young girl. A strange feeling inside, however, stopped her short, and her hand flew to clutch at the orb around her neck once more, her brown eyes widening. "Belzac," she whispered shortly, standing on tiptoe to more closely reach the huge man's ear, "we must buy her."

"As you wish, Shirley," he answered, milky eyes narrowing as the auctioneer stepped up, and he pushed forward through the milling crowd to get closer to the block. The girl stood there in only a long, ragged sleeveless shirt, her hands manacled together, chains running through loops on the cuffs around her thin ankles.

"Here we have a female," the Wingly announced, "age about twelve, heritage Human and mercreature." He reached out, lifting a handful of the long teal hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back. It slid like silk through his fingers, earning appreciative comments from some of the prospective buyers. The girl was visibly trembling and making soft sobbing sounds, tears running in streams from ruby-colored eyes down her cheeks. "With this unique coloring, she could almost pass for a Wingly, fine enough for serving, cleaning, or as a bed-slave. She is strong and well." He turned her around, the chains clanking, before stepping back. "How much do I hear for this girl?"

"Four hundred," a young Wingly man called out, raising his arm.

Belzac took a deep breath, his voice carrying clearly across the group though he was at the back of the crowd. "Four hundred fifty," he bid.

At his side, Shirley raised her hands to her mouth in nervousness. It was only very rare that they'd been outbid by anybody, but there seemed to be quite a few young rich men in the throng today, and they were the type who fancied a girl like this one. She and Belzac had certainly been given enough money to bring the bidding high, but Lord Diaz would frown on them using it all for one child, not even a warrior to train for his army.

"Five hundred!" called another voice.

The bidding increased steadily, threatening to turn into an all-out war between two of the same rich Winglies Shirley had noticed before. Finally, one dropped from the bidding, and Belzac spoke up again. "One thousand," he said reluctantly, though masking the sound of it in his voice.

"One thousand fifty!" a voice cried triumphantly.

Sighing inaudibly, the large man glanced at Shirley, who had her eyes fixed upon the weeping child on the block. "Eleven hundred," he offered.

There was silence all around; the price had become very high for such a young girl, pretty though she was. Another hundred gold would have bought a field worker in his prime, and so the young rich man stepped back with a scowl, quickly turning and striding away in search of a better bargain.

"Sold, at eleven hundred gold!" the auctioneer declared, slamming a small gavel down onto the block.

"You did well," the red-haired woman whispered to her friend, squeezing one thick forearm between her hands briefly. The large man smiled down at her, affection clearly shining on his face before they started toward the block. Their purchase had already been led down the wooden stairs to make way for the next person up for sale.

The teal-haired slave girl watched with apprehensive eyes as Belzac pushed forward through the crowd, Shirley close behind him. They both opened their purses; the money they carried had been separated so that, in case something happened, they wouldn't lose it all.

Giving her portion to the gray-hooded man, Shirley turned her attention to the twelve-year-old as Belzac turned over the money and signed the papers that were presented before him. "My name is Shirley, and this is Belzac," she said, bending down a bit to face the slim girl on a closer level. "What's yours?"

"It's Damia, Mistress Shirley," she volunteered reluctantly.

Taking the key Belzac silently handed her, the young woman shook her head emphatically before unlocking the manacles and cuffs, the chains clanking as they fell. "No, Damia, just call me Shirley," she said kindly. "We are not your masters."

The girl cringed as the woman took her hand and led her away from the bidding crowds, looking warily up at the gigantic man who followed after. "Then who will be, miss?" she asked quietly, scrubbing a hand across her damp cheeks.

"You're free now," Belzac told her with a quick smile, "though, of course, you are welcome to come back with us. There are many others we have bought and freed, and you may choose to join us in Vellweb."

"Vellweb!" Damia whispered piercingly, her eyes wide; she had obviously heard of the Human city which to slaves was a fabled promised land. "That's so far!" She looked around at the crowded slave market, however, and her hand tightened around Shirley's. "But I have nowhere else to go. I _have_ to come with you."

Nodding seriously, Shirley replied, "Yes, Damia. However, we couldn't in good conscience deny you the choice, in case you had family to return to."

The girl shook her head glumly, crossing her thin arms across her chest. "My mother's dead," she said evenly. "We lived by the sea, where the ocean whispered. But everyone's gone now. Please, Master Belzac," Damia turned her face up to him, "let me go with you! You paid so much for me-"

"Yes, you will go!" the brown-haired man replied, his face breaking into a grin. "And forget the money. No one will sell you ever again." Swinging the pack from his broad back, he knelt briefly to rummage through it, pulling out a length of folded cloth, a faded blue color. Tucking this around her shoulders, he ruffled her hair lightly before standing again. "What would you like to do now, Shirley?" he asked politely, angling his gaze down at her.

The healer was standing still, her eyes focused across the busy square toward the back of the markets. "I… still feel something here," she mumbled. The strange wanting of something, the sensation of a soul tugging at her own, had not abated since they'd bought Damia - so what was it? _Where_ was it?

He noticed her hands at her neck again, covering the Dragoon Spirit she carried, and he frowned a bit. "Still?" Belzac queried. "You're sure?" _Two in one day… it doesn't seem possible._

Since she had received her spirit, Shirley had had strange pulling feelings, a kind of other sense she possessed that drew her to one person or another. At first he had been skeptical, but her sense had not proved them wrong yet; it had been these feelings of hers that had led them to Zieg and to Syuveil, both of whom had recently been accepted by Dragoon Spirits, as well as many of the other powerful warriors currently training to fight for Lord Diaz. They were always looking for others with the potential to become a Dragoon, ever since Diaz had discovered the secret of the spirits.

Shirley did not answer, her body growing tense, her short form rising on tiptoe as she peered as well as she could over the heads of the crowd. Damia watched with growing awe as the woman, with all the suddenness of a bowshot, suddenly burst into a run, shoving between people heedlessly. "Master - I mean, Belzac? What's wrong with her?" she called out, also breaking into a run to keep up with the man's huge strides as he immediately began to follow the fleeing white-cloaked figure.

She nearly ran into him as he stopped suddenly, looking around almost wildly. Jumping in an attempt to see, Damia too searched the crowd and found no trace of Shirley. Belzac groaned, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Ah, Shirley," he sighed disapprovingly. _I hope this doesn't lead to trouble._

Too late, the redheaded woman had realized that she'd left the others behind when she'd gone around a corner, but she didn't stop to find them again, hurrying toward the center of a great noise of excited voices. The household workers were sold near the entrance of the slave market square near the arches; here at the back were the blocks where criminals were sold for use as miners or gladiators, traded off cheaply to do dangerous work. When she pushed past bystanders here, the disturbance that was usually ignored was greeted with a curse or a hand on the hilt of a blade.

The source of all the commotion was the figure of a slave up on one of the selling stages. He was a lithe man, lean and well-muscled, fighting like a rabid animal against the Winglies and Humans holding the chains that wrapped around his form, trying to restrain him. The crowd here, loving the spectacle, was cheering on his desperate efforts to break free.

The criminal auctioneer was a Human, large and florid with a loud, thundering voice that carried even over the struggling man's enraged snarls. "This man, as you can see, would make the perfect gladiator!" he called out over the crowd. "He's twenty-three, in fine, fine shape, as you can also see - whoops-"

The man danced back out of the way as the slave whirled around, a loud sound of snapping metal ringing out as one tightly-balled fist jerked away from the other, breaking a weak link in his manacle chains. His hands came flying from behind his back, his punch connecting with the jaw of an armored Wingly guard, who collapsed like a falling sack of bricks.

Shirley, her eyes widened, watched as another platinum-haired man traced a sigil in the air. The crowd, almost as one, gasped and cried out with glee as turquoise flashes of lightning struck down from a point above the slave's head, slamming into his unprotected, nearly clothingless body and sending him reeling backward with a grunt.

Panting with the effort, the russet-haired man pulled himself back up again, charging headlong for another of the four men trying to restrain him and driving his shoulder into his chest, broken pieces of chain whipping around his arms and slicing small cuts into taut muscles.

"Better watch out, boys!" the auctioneer called brightly, egging on the crowd. "Seems he has thunder affinity! Magic doesn't even faze this one! You'll sure have a fine gladiator on your hands here, folks!"

Biting her lip as she watched the slave struggle, the red-haired woman once again reached for her silvery-white Dragoon Spirit, feeling it warm beneath her fingers as if trying to tell her something. _He_ was the one she'd been looking for; she could feel it.

But if he was here, it was because he was a criminal. _Of course, under Wingly law there aren't many non-Winglies who are completely innocent, are there?_ she reminded herself. His crime could have been as simple as having gone to the wrong store; she hoped it was true, as she'd never tried to buy a criminal for Lord Diaz before.

"Well, come on," the auctioneer cried out once more, his hands resting on his large paunch. Having wound up the crowd, it was time to get to the bidding. "Get him down; we've seen what he can do! Just don't damage him too much for his new owner!"

Tossing a glare at the Human auctioneer, the conscious Wingly wove a spell once more, much to the crowd's delight. Bright, multicolored flashes like shimmering clouds appeared around the slave, blooming and exploding against him. His low groan as he crumpled to his knees, quickly cut off, tore at Shirley's heart, and she cried out softly in empathy with his pain.

"What do I hear for this exceptional Human?"

Bidding often started quite low at these auction blocks, but the show they'd seen had made the onlookers quite appreciative of the potential gladiator's strength and resilience. "Five hundred!" a deep voice shouted.

"Seven hundred!"

"Seven-fifty!"

"Nine hundred!"

The fat auctioneer looked around, his eyes shining. "Do I hear any more?" he asked into the momentary silence.

Before she even realized it, Shirley's arm flew up in the air. "Nine-fifty!" she called out, easily heard over the crowd because of her closeness to the stage. The chained man raised his head, his dark amber-brown eyes meeting hers, and she swallowed heavily, hoping he could read the good intentions in her expression.

The man standing next to the slumped slave laughed delightedly. "Nine-fifty from the little lady! Sure you could handle him, sweetheart? He's not afraid to use those fists!"

"Nine-fifty," Shirley repeated stubbornly.

"One thousand!" a gruff voice bid.

"Thirteen hundred!" another cried.

_It can't get much higher… we can't afford this, not after buying Damia too. But I can't - I _won't_ see this man go to Kadessa to die! _Wincing, the young woman shook her head but once again raised her hand. "Thirteen-fifty!"

"Thirteen-fifty!" the man declared, clearly having decided to pick on her for being the only woman. "Fellas, I think we're seeing true love here! Go on, sweetheart, you're too pretty for this convict!"

There was a collective low, suggestive laugh, and one man put his hand on Shirley's shoulder. "Forget the slave, girl," he purred. "I'm _much_ cheaper-"

Shrugging his hand off angrily, she furrowed her eyebrows and kicked back at him, the heel of her boot colliding with his shin. As he spun away, cursing, accompanied by the sound of jeering, the auctioneer bellowed, "We've got thirteen-fifty from the little lady! Anyone going to stand in the way of true love?"

"Fourteen hundred!" a high, clear man's voice bid, followed by more nasty laughter.

Shirley could not take her eyes away from the slave's face. A scruffy, tangled beard covered his jaw, his russet hair just as wild and unruly. His eyes, however, were regarding her with interest, an odd calmness in them despite his frantic fighting before.

"Fourteen-fifty!" she shouted, almost daring someone to outbid her. And if they did - well, then she was through, for there was only fifteen hundred gold left between her and Belzac if they wanted to make it back to Vellweb safely.

A voice raised once more, the same high young man's voice. "Fif-" However, it was suddenly cut off, and a confused silence descended.

Rallying against the surprise, the auctioneer began slowly, "Any more? Going once… going twice…" He paused, looking around, and then shrugged, beaming broadly. "Sold to the lady up front! One thousand, four hundred and fifty gold is the price of love, folks!" Amidst the peals of laughter, he winked exaggeratedly like a street performer, beckoning toward Shirley. "Come and get him, sweetheart!"

Determined, she took a step forward, pressing up against the side of the stage to slide past the men crowding against it. A haphazard gasp from the more observant members of the crowd and a jingle of chains were her only warning as the slave suddenly lurched forward, one hand flying out toward her face.

Instead of the crack of a gavel to seal the purchase, there was the loud crack of a guard's club slamming into the side of the man's head, dropping him to the surface of the auction block, his balled fist relaxing right in front of her nose. Shirley gasped in shock and horror, sagging backward and hitting against someone. Spinning around, she looked up to see Belzac looming above her and sighed, almost collapsing back against his chest in relief. "Oh, thank Soa it's you."

He put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it once before letting go. Damia stood right at her elbow now, looking at her questioningly, and she shook her head before standing straight again and pushing her way through to the auctioneer, followed by the other two.

"You women sure like a challenge, don't you?" the auctioneer baited, having noticed his appreciative crowd was still sticking around. "That's fourteen-fifty, little lady."

Belzac narrowed his eyes, his deep voice rumbling out, "You will have more respect for the lady, sir."

Smirking at the fat man's visible discomfort, Shirley once again counted out her portion of the money, Belzac without further comment coming up with the rest. Clearing his throat and stowing the payment away in a lockbox, the auctioneer waved toward the comatose figure of the slave she'd just bought; he had finally been pulled off the stage and deposited at their feet.

"Your slave, my lady," he said, glancing nervously at Belzac and holding out the ownership papers toward her, the sour-faced Wingly guard next to him producing quill and ink. "Please make your mark or sign."

"I make this purchase in the name of my owner." Coolly, Shirley leaned forward and signed the name of the Wingly who was 'officially' the owner of the slaves they freed; upon reading the name, the auctioneer paled, and the winged guard next to him took a step backward. She forced herself not to smile at their dismay.

Wiping his brow, the auctioneer cleared his throat and proffered an iron key. "Well, then… I do suggest you leave his chains on - and get stronger ones. Whatever you wanted him for," he leered, raking his eyes across her despite Belzac's warning glare, "he'll do nothing but fight. The seller is not responsible for anything he does to you."

"I understand," Shirley forced out, quickly pulling the key away from his sweaty fingers and ignoring the implications in his statement. Belzac's quiet disapproval of what she'd done was enough, even setting aside the inferences this man had been making during the bidding.

She folded the key into her palm, watching silently as Belzac crouched to pick up the limp form of the slave before them, slinging him easily over one large shoulder. There was only one thing she knew now: the odd tugging feeling had gone away. She'd found the one she was supposed to find, no matter who he was _or_ what he had done. "He must be treated," she said softly.

"Yes," Belzac agreed shortly, pushing forward to lead the way from the slave markets and back toward the inn where they were staying. "I hope you know what you're doing, Shirley."

"I do," she answered firmly, blinking in surprise and then smiling as Damia shyly slid her hand into hers. She held it tightly, swinging their arms and walking lightly, almost as if a weight had fallen from her. "We got a real warrior for Lord Diaz, Belzac - and everything's going to be just fine!"

* * *

Kanzas opened his eyes to a bright, white glow, the rays of light streaming out from between a woman's fingers. Her eyes too were closed, and what was undoubtedly healing magic cast a pale shine onto her lovely, serene face as she sat next to him on the bed. 

_The woman from the slave market-_ His hand lashed out, startling a shriek from her before his fingers closed over her throat, pressing her head back as he slowly sat up. There was another female in the room, her own scream ringing out suddenly. Whatever had been causing the glow fell from the redhead's hand, clonking hard onto the wooden floorboards and rolling with a glassy whir under the bed.

A second later, he found himself pressed flat back against the mattress again, two huge hands on his shoulders and a knee in his gut preventing him from moving. Kanzas struggled, growling angrily at the giant of a man who was seemingly holding him down without effort. "Bastard!" he snarled in a rasping tone, kicking at the man, but to no avail.

"I knew we should have left the chains on, damn you," Belzac hissed, raising his fist to deliver a hard punch to the prone man's jaw. Much to his surprise and grudging respect, he merely flinched in pain, staying conscious. "After she went to all the trouble to free you, and you do that!"

"Free me?" he spat, letting his muscles go deceptively slack. However, the huge man didn't take the bait, holding him down with as much pressure as when he'd been struggling. "No one pays that much to set someone free!"

Another face intruded into his vision, strands of straight red hair trailing down toward his chest as the woman leaned in over the large man's arm. "_We_ do," Shirley told him quietly. There were faint pinkish impressions from his fingers on her pale neck, but she didn't appear to be very angry about it. "If Belzac lets you up, will you promise to listen?"

Kanzas narrowed his eyes at her, his mind running quickly. There was something so familiar about this woman, but he couldn't quite place the face. "Who are you?" he demanded, ignoring her question for the moment.

"My name is Shirley," she replied calmly, laying a hand at her collarbone, "and this is Belzac. Over there is Damia. We are here to buy and free slaves at the behest of Lord Diaz of Vellweb."

His mind skipped across the rest of her explanation, fastening on her name. Now he knew why she looked familiar. What an odd coincidence, that he might meet her again after so long. _Shirley… I know who you are._ "Shirley," he whispered, closing his eyes almost dreamily. "All right, I'll listen."

She and Belzac exchanged cautious, wondering glances before looking down at the man on the bed. Slowly, Shirley stepped away, well out of reach, before her friend let up his grip on the former slave. They watched him warily, but he continued to lay there with his eyes closed, all the tension suddenly drained from his body as if he was asleep. "What is your name?" the woman asked him, finally stepping closer once more.

The man's eyelids fluttered, and he watched her expression closely as he said in an offhanded tone, "It's Kanzas." There was no sign of recognition on her part, nothing but a nod of acknowledgment. He felt rather pleased that she didn't know him.

Pillowing his head on his arms, he winced at the soreness of his muscles, especially the tenderness of what had to be a spreading bruise on his jaw, and glared up at the Giganto-like man who'd done it. Belzac gave him a similar look full of ire, looming over Shirley protectively.

"Kanzas," she repeated, dragging his attention away again. "Like I said, we bought you to free you."

"Huh," he snorted derisively. "There's gotta be something in it for you. I don't care what you say; no one goes around paying that much to set slaves free."

A soft, new voice spoke up, and he glanced over to see a young teal-haired girl standing at a safe distance away, her hands clasped up in front of her. "It's true. They bought me, too."

"We're looking for fighters," Shirley pressed. "Lord Diaz sends us here to find Humans who wish to fight for him. But when we say you're free, you truly are - if you have somewhere to return, you may by all means go. Even so, we'd like you to stay on with us, Kanzas. I believe you could be-" She stumbled a little over her words and reached for her neck, looking confused when something she was reaching for wasn't there. "Oh, no-"

"I know where it is, Shirley," Damia volunteered before ducking down, her slim body wriggling under Kanzas' bed. She hauled herself to her feet again with a small silvery-white orb in her hand, placing it back in the red-haired woman's open palm. Belzac breathed a soft sigh of relief, seeming to relax a little.

Nodding to her, she said, "Thank you," and closed her fingers around the trinket. "You're powerful," she continued finally, turning back to Kanzas, "and Lord Diaz would likely make you one of his elite fighters." _Perhaps… even a Dragoon?_ she dared to think before quickly shoving the thought away. Just because she'd been drawn to him didn't necessarily mean he was one too; she'd felt as though they had to buy Damia, but _she_ surely wouldn't be fighting.

"That scrawny girl, too?" he said as if reading her mind. "Why'd you buy her, then, if all you want are new fighters?"

"I had to," Shirley answered in a low voice, ducking her head. Her hair fell forward over her shoulders, bright red against the pale turquoise of her robe. "Just as I had to buy you. That's really all I can tell you right now."

Kanzas fell silent, thinking for a moment. "What does this Diaz want warriors for? Why not just hire mercenaries?"

Belzac spoke up for the first time, speaking almost reluctantly. "Mercenaries change sides. Lord Diaz - he will unite the Humans, and together we will topple the Wingly cities-"

The lean man's derisive laughter cut him off; Kanzas rolled to his side on the bed, curling up as if his stomach hurt him. "Overthrowing the Winglies? That's a real joke, isn't it, Giganto? Even a handful of them are hard enough to kill, let alone armies full of the flittery bastards. What care do you have for Humans, anyway?"

His eyes hooded, the large man drew himself up, tensed and angry. "The blood of my mother is Human," he snarled deeply, "and I fight for them, for all the children whose lives have been destroyed. Why do you fight, Kanzas?" He drew out the name insultingly, though the other man made no new move to get up.

"You've killed Winglies, haven't you?" Shirley asked quietly. "That's why you were sold as a criminal. So-"

Giving her a twisted smile, he cut in with, "I've killed everyone, dear Shirley. Anyone. I don't care who." He deliberately made her own name into almost an endearment, and was rewarded with another flash of anger in Belzac's eyes. _Just as I thought - the giant loves her,_ he thought with amusement. _Poor, poor Shirley._

"Why?" she asked back, her eyes wide, her voice both intrigued and horrified at the same time.

"Why? Because I can," he replied teasingly. Kanzas shrugged, rolling over onto his stomach and stretching languidly. It _did_ feel good to be on such a soft mattress instead of the ground, and undoubtedly they'd end up buying him better clothes than this ragged pair of pants he had on, which was all he owned now.

"Disgusting," Belzac said decidedly, sitting down hard on one of the other two beds in the inn room. "Send him off, Shirley," he suggested dismissively as she took a seat next to him. "Lord Diaz has no need for a man like this."

Her face downcast, she looked into the depths of the orb she held, almost as if gazing into a crystal to see the future. "I cannot, Belzac," she murmured finally. "I was right about Zieg and Syuveil. And if I'm right again…"

"Oh, no," he breathed, running his hands through his golden-brown hair in frustration.

Unsure of what they were talking about, Kanzas fell silent, feeling as though he might doze off. Not yet, though - but he could rest his eyes until he was sure sleep was a good idea.

In the quietness, Damia came closer to the two from Vellweb, bowing out of habit before them. "Um, I was wondering where I could sleep tonight," she asked, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder at the two remaining beds.

"You can share with me," Shirley invited, forcing a smile for the twelve-year-old. "It is getting late, isn't it?"

Nodding in agreement, Damia returned her smile. "Thank you, Shirley. I think I'm going to go sleep now. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Damia," Belzac told her, the anger he was feeling melting away under the force of the former slave girl's gratitude.

She turned and moved with a peculiar grace toward the empty bed, taking off the blue cloak Belzac had fashioned for her and folding it neatly before slipping in between the linen sheets. No sooner had she settled in than Kanzas opened his eyes, turning the fullness of his amber gaze toward Shirley and Belzac. "I'll go with you to Vellweb," he announced, "and see what there is to see."

"Good!" Shirley said, her face brightening. "I'm glad! Once you hear what Lord Diaz has to say, you'll understand."

_Will I?_ he asked silently, only giving her a smirk in return. She watched him closely, her gaze rather off-putting, but he was determined to endure it and not be stared down.

Sighing, the large man looked at them before saying, "You should get some rest, Shirley. I'll stay up and watch."

"Belzac," she chided, standing up from where she sat next to him, "there's no need to watch."

He snorted disbelievingly. "Maybe you trust him," he hooked a thumb in Kanzas' direction, "but _I_ don't. I'll be fine."

"Smart man," Kanzas commented quietly, giving the axe-wielder a fake innocent smile. Belzac did not respond, settling back on the bed to sit with his back against the wall, his eyes watching every move the smaller figure made.

The bearded man raised an eyebrow when he saw Shirley approaching him, her expression similar to the look of fond reproach she'd used on her friend. "Are you hungry at all?" she asked. "You've been unconscious for a long time, and we all had dinner already."

"No, I'm fine. Do you think to mother me into submission?" he asked the twenty-year-old as she once again sat down on the edge of his bed, holding the orb up to her chest.

Chuckling very softly, she commanded, "Roll over, now." He found himself obeying, if only for the sheer novelty of it. "You still were not fully healed."

"You have no Wingly blood in you," he declared, immediately cursing himself for saying it so definitively like that. However, she merely nodded, and he went on, "Explain how you can do that healing magic, then."

Shirley's smile grew secretive, and she waved a finger at him. "In Vellweb, all will be revealed."

"Fine," he replied, watching with no other words as she leaned over the orb in her hands, filling the dim room with a soft white glow.

Kanzas wasn't sure how long it took, but as he laid there in the darkness he could slowly feel his bruises and the scabby gash across his chest shrinking, the tenderness of his skin and the damage done by the slavers' spells on him fading. "I could get used to this," he commented idly when the light misted away, leaving the inn room once again lit by a single candle.

"Mm," she replied noncommittally, giving him an appraising glance. "What's _that_ expression for?" Shirley asked him, taken aback by the intensity of his eyes upon her.

"I was just wondering," he remarked in a whispering tone, seemingly out of nowhere, "if that half-Giganto is your man or not."

Shocked, she straightened, giving him a glare. It felt as if he'd demanded that she decide her feelings on the spot - she'd known Belzac since they'd been children, and did indeed love him, but whether or not she loved him like _that_ was something she still could not answer. "I don't think you've known us long enough to ask about such a private matter, Kanzas," Shirley finally answered stiffly, she too keeping her voice low.

He shifted onto an elbow, raising his hand to her face. She flinched slightly as he brushed her temple with the back of his hand, questions in her eyes. "Well, the answer really doesn't matter," he replied quietly before leaning forward and brushing his lips against hers.

Kanzas' smile grew as she pulled almost violently away from him, stammering some kind of goodnight and moving jerkily back toward Belzac and Damia. The man lay back again, stretching out on top of the quilt and staring at the ceiling. Belzac's voice made a query to which Shirley was obviously avoiding answering, and the smile grew into a grin.

_Now that I've found you, sister Shirley, we won't be parted so easily, _he thought at her. _I'll see what you want from me… and then _you_ will see what I want from you…_


	2. Chapter Two

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter Two

It was a normal dream, as dreams went - fuzzy, confusing, the unexplained commonplace. And so Shirley did not question why she was standing next to an auction block, clinging to the black-haired woman next to her, holding on so tightly she could barely breathe. It was a dream, but she had been here before.

The man standing above the crowd had his eyes closed, his head tilted back to hide the tears trickling around the curves of his cheeks. Long red hair, red beard. The slam-crack of a gavel - sold.

"Daddy," Shirley whimpered, her lips muffled against the shoulder of the woman she clutched onto. She could hear the hitched sob of her mother's breathing against her.

The man on the block disappeared, to be replaced with the figure of a small russet-haired boy no older than six. In chains too big for his arms, held back by a guard with no face - for this was a dream, even though she felt it happening around her - he reached for his mother, cried for his father.

Shirley held out her hand toward him, seeing him stretch to touch it. But her mother pulled her hand back gently, insistently, and as if she was still the dream's small child she turned her face away from the boy's, bawling into the woman's shoulder.

Slam - sold. "Za!" the black-haired woman screamed suddenly, jerking forward. Chains clanked. "No, my son, my son, bring him back, Za, no, come back-"

Time swirled, and the eyes appeared, the blinking orbs of the bidders staring up at the two on the block. Shirley felt her mother's arms holding her tight. "Mother and child," the bodiless auctioneer's voice intoned. "Female twenty-six, child three."

She was still herself and yet she was also the child that cried as the voices warred for them, their final price being called out by the owner of an agricultural estate - the voice of the last owner she'd ever had. "Seven hundred and seventy-five gold!"

Bang. Sold.

Shirley suddenly sat upright, batting away at the hand that poked her upper arm. "What, what?" she gasped out, blinking the sleep from her eyes and looking around wildly. Everything around the room seemed calm, however, and she focused her gaze on the figure of the girl who was kneeling on the floor at her side. "Damia, what-"

"It's okay," she said quickly, patting at Shirley's arm. "I'm sorry, but you were crying and - and I couldn't stand to hear it." She looked down quickly as the woman reached up to touch her own cheek, feeling it damp and sticky from the tears. "Was it a nightmare?"

"Oh," Shirley murmured, "it's all right. Yes, a nightmare… I always have it after going to the slave market. I'm all right now." Glancing around at the room, she saw daylight streaming in through cracked window drapes and the other two beds empty, one made neatly and the other left rumpled. "Where are Belzac and - Kanzas?"

Hopping onto the end of the bed and flipping the corner of her blue wrap over one shoulder, Damia swung her slender legs back and forth. "They went out to get things for the trip, and new clothes for me and Kanzas. Belzac told me to stay here with you."

"He did?" Frowning a little, she sat up reluctantly, running her hands through sleep-tangled hair. "If he's buying things for you too…" _I hope Belzac finally went to sleep last night. He doesn't need to be worn out on the first day of a journey._

"Yeah," Damia agreed, twisting her mouth into a pout, "I wanted to go out too. But they were arguing this morning, and…" She fell silent, giving Shirley a hesitant glance before continuing, "He said he didn't want me getting hurt. It's kind of unfair. I don't think anyone would try to grab me with Belzac and Kanzas around."

Flipping the covers aside, she swung her legs out of bed and stood up, untwisting her nightdress and letting it fall straight. "I… I'm not sure that's what he meant," she responded. It was quite clear now; after all her years of knowing the large man, she had learned what made him tick. Belzac obviously did not trust Kanzas - but to distrust him enough to think that he'd hurt Damia, and in public? "But he was just thinking of your own good," Shirley finished appeasingly.

Hanging her head, the teal-haired girl sighed, "I guess so. He also said you shouldn't be left alone sleeping anyway, so I guess it's okay. You'd still be having that nightmare."

"Yes," she agreed with a smile, shaking out her clothes and changing back into them as the girl jumped up and almost automatically made the bed for her. "Belzac just worries too much," she sighed, pulling her undershirt down before wriggling back into her pale turquoise robe.

Damia gave a little snort of laughter, and at Shirley's arched eyebrow she explained, "He told me you'd say that! He also told me, 'tell her she doesn't worry enough'."

"Ah, that man," she laughed back lightly.

"Well, you don't," a voice said suddenly, and, surprised, Shirley whirled around to see the door opened, the tall half-Giganto ducking through it, his arms laden with packages. He gave her a half-smile, continuing, "I could have been anyone, and you didn't even hear the door."

Appearing from behind him and carrying only a small case in his hand, Kanzas gave Belzac a sidelong glance. "You sound like you're trying to be her father," he pointed out curtly. The feeling of tension in the room immediately heightened as the two females gave them wary looks, half-expecting a fight to break out right then.

"I've already had enough of this," Belzac finally returned calmly, turning away. Kanzas rolled his eyes at his back, leaning against the wall as Belzac handed two of the packages to Damia. She grunted under the weight, her eyes widening curiously as Shirley looked down over her shoulder to see for herself. "These are for you. I hope they suit you."

"Presents!" she said excitedly, her pale skin flushing with delight as she realized how much attention she was getting. "It's so heavy!" She put the boxes on the bed nearby, plucking at the string that held the paper wrapping of the largest one closed. Belzac smiled at her enthusiasm, watching as she unwrapped the box to reveal a long-handled iron hammer. The girl lifted it out of the wrapping, hoisting it with two hands up to eye level. "Wow," she whispered.

"Now that you're free," Belzac clarified, "you'll need to learn to defend yourself, and the path back to Gloriano isn't easy. The hammer is light enough for you to swing, but it should still cause some damage."

"Maybe," Kanzas interjected, his voice dripping disgust.

Shirley crossed her arms, declaring, "I think it's a wonderful idea. You'll only get stronger, Damia."

The half-mermaid beamed, laying her new weapon down on the mattress to turn to the bundle of clothing. "I hope so!"

Glad Damia hadn't been discouraged by Kanzas' comment, the red-haired Dragoon shot a warning glare at the wiry man, really noticing for the first time that he'd acquired new clothes as well - a sleeveless black jumpsuit in a sort of martial-arts style and soft black leather shoes, the only color being the deep purple of the sash around his waist.

He caught her staring and gave her a deliberate look up and down, making her face redden. "Anything you'd like?" he asked teasingly in a soft tone.

Flustered momentarily, she spun away, watching Damia and Belzac talking together before turning back quickly. _I am _not_ going to let him get to me like he did last night. If he knows it bothers me, he'll keep doing it. _"Oh, ah, just, what's in your box?" Shirley asked him in an attempt to regain control of where the conversation was heading.

In response, Kanzas flipped up the lid of the small container, revealing something metallic within a dark leather casing. He lifted out and unsheathed a hand-held claw, its two long gleaming blades jutting out on either end, with a shorter one in the middle rising between his fingers. "My old one was taken," he said, running the pad of his thumb along one of the blades. Shirley bit back a gasp as a line of red welled up along the cut, speckling the metal a little. "It's too shiny, but it's not bad."

"I could tell it was sharp," she said disapprovingly. "You didn't have to cut yourself."

"Ah, but you see," Kanzas told her, "whenever you unsheathe a weapon, you have to draw blood before you can put it back. And I like you, Shirley, so…"

She shook her head, trying to keep the smile off her face, although inside she couldn't help but wonder if he'd been telling the truth when he'd offhandedly told her he killed anyone, everyone… "Stop teasing me!" she protested half-heartedly. "For all you know, I could be very offended by teasing."

"That's true," he conceded, sliding the claw back into its case and tying it to his sash. "But you aren't, which is good, since I can't help it anyway."

Shirley opened her mouth to reply, but the abrupt silence in the room stopped her. She looked back to see Belzac and Damia watching them; though the twelve-year-old was just curious, the man had an oddly unhappy look on his face.

_I don't like him,_ was all Belzac found himself thinking, the thought growing increasingly insistent. _I don't like him… _

He could feel all his anger melting away, however, as Shirley gave him a smile, turning to face him and putting her hands on her hips. "I suppose I didn't get anything?" she asked lightly.

"Of course you did," Belzac responded, holding out a thick envelope.

Walking forward to take it from the man's hand, she opened the flap and peered inside, her straight hair falling to frame her face. Grinning, she then smelled the herbs the envelope contained, saying, "Just the ones I wanted. Thank you."

"You know it's no problem," he responded, combing stray golden-brown strands from his eyes and back up. He then frowned, bending forward to look more closely at her face. "Shirley, you were crying?"

"Oh!" She reached to touch her cheek briefly with her free hand. "I just had that dream, that's all. I should go wash my face…"

Belzac put one large hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance. "Next time, you don't have to come here," he told her firmly. "I know how much it hurts you."

"No," she responded with equal insistence, "you know I have to come too. Besides, it's fine, really. Being able to free people more than makes up for any dreams." Wrapping one arm around his waist, Shirley squeezed him tightly in a hug, feeling him return it with his customary restraint.

A sudden crashing noise and Damia's shriek of surprise made them break apart and look toward the source; the shelf that had formerly been on the wall next to where Kanzas was standing was now laying on the wooden floor, the small vases and pottery once on the shelf now scattered in pieces around his feet. "That scared me!" Damia announced, looking quizzically at Kanzas.

He ignored her, his arms crossing in front of him as he leaned back against the wall. "Oops," he said calmly, staring hard at Belzac, "did I do that? Sorry. Watch your feet, Shirley, the bits are sharp."

"What? Oh, all right, I see…" she replied distantly, looking at the russet-haired man askance before picking her way out of the debris to find her shoes.

_I'm too tired for this foolishness right now. _"Well, anyway, we should get going," Belzac announced wearily. "Why don't you run out and get dressed, Damia?" he told her, receiving a nod. As he reached for his pack, Shirley sat down to put on her shoes, and the other two slowly began to follow suit, gathering up their things in silence.

What was going to happen when they reached Vellweb? He himself wasn't even sure if he would be accepted as a Dragon Knight, but he already knew that he would be helping Diaz and his struggle no matter if he was one or not. He had to, for the children, and for Shirley. But Kanzas - if _he_ became a Dragoon, what kind of future would he mold for the children of Endiness?

Belzac could understand Shirley's optimism that she'd found a new Dragoon, but right now he could only hope that she had been wrong.

* * *

"Ya!" Damia cried as she spun the hammer around her, using the momentum to smack it hard into the rough stake that had been planted in the ground. "Ha-!" With both hands, she swung it downward, spraying splinters as she knocked a piece from the top of the tree limb. 

"Keep it up," Belzac encouraged from his seat on a fallen log not too far away.

Her long teal hair flew around her like her cape as she danced around the back for another swing; this one, however, flew inches away from the stake, making her stumble to regain her balance. "Aw, I missed," she complained, resting the head of the long-handled hammer on the ground and taking a few deep breaths. It billowed out like mist in the cold air.

"You can't stop, even if you miss," the large man told her sternly. "Never turn your back on a creature unless you're sure it's dead, because that's when it'll strike."

"I know, I know," she grumbled, straightening and hoisting the hammer over her shoulder, "but it's just a _stick_, Belzac."

He snorted, trying not to show his amusement. "Yes, and you should be thankful it's not countering."

Shirley laughed softly, the firelight casting a warm golden glow over her face and white cloak. "I hope I never see the day it does," she commented mostly to herself, leaning forward to turn the skewers resting partially in the blaze. When she settled back, she pulled the woolen fabric more tightly around her and glanced back at Damia, who was gamely running at the stake once more. _She's had to learn quickly, though we're lucky there aren't many dangerous creatures around here._

The small group had been traveling for several days, winding their way through the evergreen forest that stood between Mekadris and the pass to Gloriano. They had finally made it out of the trees early that morning, and now nothing but a low, flat plainsland stood between them and the mountains. Further to the north, the Life City floated high above, but they were too far from it to see more than a faint glimmer along the horizon.

"Belzac, Damia?" the red-haired woman called out suddenly. "When you're ready, dinner's done."

Pulling out of her swing, the girl straightened, her expression brightening considerably, and Belzac smiled, getting to his feet. Jogging to keep up with the man, Damia dropped her hammer onto her bedroll before plopping down in front of the fire and foraging around briefly for something.

Finding a seat and pulling his own cloak more comfortably around him, Belzac unconsciously took the skewers of dripping meat Shirley handed him, giving the twelve-year-old a curious look. "What are you doing?" he asked quizzically.

Not answering at first as she came up with a long stick, Damia crouched forward and poked in the ashes, uncovering a small, blackened object. Rolling it out, she picked it up and quickly had to readjust her fingertips, blowing hard on it. "Hot, hot, ouch," she muttered, dancing it between her hands before finally resting it on a corner of her wrap.

"Oh, you cooked a potato?" Shirley asked, realizing what it was as Damia split the charred object open with her thumbs. She glanced into her open pack before giving her a playful frown. "I was saving that!"

"Sorry," Damia told her, not sounding very apologetic, and grinned around a mouthful of potato. "But it's my favorite." A little more guiltily, she explained, "Sometimes I got hungry, so I used to sneak a potato from the kitchen and keep it in the embers in the back house. I've never tasted anything so good and so…"

Chuckling, she answered, "I see! Well, ask next time, okay?" Damia nodded, and she reached for her own skewer, nibbling on a corner of the meat gingerly so as not to burn her mouth. _I wonder how often she went hungry before,_ Shirley mused, but kept the thought to herself. She and Belzac had made many of these trips to the slave markets, and there had come to be several unofficial 'rules' between them and the slaves they'd freed; one of these was that they would never ask anyone about their owners, or about how they came to be sold.

Sometimes it was hard to contain her curiosity, though, and Kanzas in particular was making her want to ask the prying questions she knew she shouldn't ask. What was _his_ story? What had brought him to the auction block at the back of the market?

She sighed, glancing around for any sight of the man, but there was none. He'd gone out to scout around - or so she assumed, as he never bothered to give them notice before he went off on his own. Instead, she turned her attention to Belzac, finding him stretched back before the fire, his head pillowed on massive arms. "You finished already?" she asked, startled.

"It's okay, I'm not hungry," he answered quietly, glancing over at Damia. The girl was devouring the meat from the skewers, licking her fingers and seeming completely content. She was staring into the flickering flames, lost in her own world.

Had he been giving his portions to her the whole time? She hadn't noticed that, or the fact that Damia was so hungry. The realization made her a bit ashamed, as it was something she knew she'd normally have noted. Shirley liked to be aware of her surroundings, to know what was needed and where, and she didn't like the feeling of missing it. "All right," she mumbled, wanting to chide him about not eating, but he knew enough not to let himself get unhealthy.

After a few minutes, Damia half-crawled around the edge of the campfire toward Belzac, crouching down near his head. "Thank you," she murmured to him respectfully, lowering her face. "I'm sorry I eat so much but… my old master didn't always give us so much to eat, since he was out of money a lot… the mistress had to sell us when he died, to pay for stuff, so we didn't get much food…"

"Child, it's all right," the man said, raising his hand and placing it on her head as her shoulders shook, tears beginning to wind their way down from her ruby eyes. She leaned forward, burying her face into his shoulder and sobbing, and he enfolded her into a hug. "Never worry about it again," Belzac whispered.

Quickly finishing her food, Shirley decided to leave them alone, feeling awkward about overhearing. Standing up, she moved a short way away from the campsite, picking her way up to the top of a large boulder half-embedded in the ground and sitting on its smooth top. The ground here was mostly flat, making it easy to see a long way around. The evening was quiet, with no beasts, bandits, or anyone else in evidence.

The faint sparkle of the Life City above the horizon caught her eye against the spray of stars across the sky, and she reached up to enfold her Dragoon Spirit in her hand, squeezing it tightly. Besides the obvious pain of the past, there was another good reason she didn't ask any of her companions about their former lives: she didn't want to have to talk about her own. Because then she'd have to try to describe the darkness that was hidden deep within the prisms of the Crystal Palace…

She heard no footsteps against the stone she was sitting on, merely feeling the soft tickle of animal fur against her cheek. Startled, Shirley jerked back a little, turning her head as Kanzas crouched down next to her; she recognized the fur wrap around his shoulders as being what had touched her.

The weather was always cold around here, especially as they got closer to Vellweb, and, in what she'd assumed was his typical arrogance, Kanzas had not gotten a cloak before they'd left Mekadris. One had soon become necessary, however, and so he'd killed a young bear - she didn't want to know how he'd managed it, though it had probably been hibernating at the time. He wore the skin now, untreated and uncured, of course, and she wrinkled her nose at the smell of rot coming from the pelt.

Kanzas glanced sidelong at her, his eyes resting on her hand clasping the necklace she wore. He said nothing, however, waiting for her to make the first move. He wondered what she would say… something thoughtful, certainly.

"I saved your dinner for you," Shirley finally announced, tucking the orb of the Dragoon Spirit under her collar, hiding it within her robe.

He smirked to himself in success, nodding but not feeling the need to respond to that. _I want to know what that thing is,_ Kanzas thought, biting his lip briefly, _before we get to that city and before it gets me into something hard to get out of._

The silence stretched as the woman looked up at the stars, her arms folded for warmth against her stomach. She always felt so uncomfortable around the russet-haired man, as if she had to constantly remain on her toes, waiting for him to surprise her in some way. He got a kind of perverse joy out of doing or saying the unexpected, and even expecting it didn't always help.

"The moon is bright tonight," she mumbled to break the silence. "It looks like… veins, on the surface there. A moon that doesn't set. It's so eerie, but somehow beautiful too." She felt as though she was talking to herself, but went on anyway, "Do you remember when it appeared in the sky? It was ten years ago… everyone thought it meant the world was ending. But it never did…"

"The Winglies have sealed the gods away in the sky," he finally said, watching as she whipped her head toward him, her hair shining in the light like blood against her pale cloak. "Only they may call upon the gods' power. They answer the prayers of Melbu Frahma alone."

Shirley shook her head emphatically, feeling her face flush with a bit of anger for letting him surprise her again. "Uh, but, how - how could that be true? I think they'd have been just as worried when it appeared," the healer managed to reply. _Even the Winglies can't seal up gods… _

"No," Kanzas muttered hoarsely, his mouth drawn tight into a frown. "In Aglis, they celebrated for days, the ones who knew the truth of what had been done."

"Aglis?" she repeated. "You were there then?"

This was not what he wanted to be talking about right now. He reached for the claw at his belt, squeezing it tightly in his hand and letting the moonlight glint along blades stained with blood he hadn't cleaned off. "Shirley…"

Her brown eyes seemed even darker in this light, looking up at him with sympathy; she did not react to the claw in his fist, and he wondered if she was either that brave or that naïve. "Forgive me," she told him, ducking her head. "I shouldn't be prying." He nearly jerked back as she reached out to put her hand on his shoulder with her usual unthinking reassurance.

_You're just like her, so holy it's sickening._ Kanzas resisted the urge to touch the strands of red framing her face, instead giving her a deadpan "Goodnight," and leaping down from the boulder. He straightened and walked back toward the campsite without another word, feeling the weight of her wide-eyed stare along the back of his neck.

Pressing the edge of the claw against his forefinger, he sucked at the blood that beaded upward from the cut, sliding his weapon back into its sheath. This game was only going to work as long as _she_ couldn't get to him in return. He was going to have to be more careful about what he said.

* * *

Snow had been falling steadily in the foothills for almost an hour when the creatures arrived, materializing out of the drifting whiteness around them. Two huge, shaggy things covered in brown fur lunged out from behind the protection of snow-covered rocks as the small group passed beneath. 

Damia's scream was what alerted them a moment before one of the mammoths charged at her, its weight throwing her back several feet into a drift. She twisted to scramble out of its way as it continued to rush for her, scrabbling for purchase in the snow and gasping painfully for breath. Blood spattered the pristine whiteness, and the girl clutched at her side, trying her best not to cry.

The large animal lowered its head, one huge curved tusk pointed at the intruder, and Damia cringed, covering her head instinctually, before seeing a figure fly down between her and the mammoth, almost as if falling from the sky. Kanzas, claws in fist, slashed hard where the mammoth's trunk met its head, its trumpeting noise of pain loud in response. "Thank you-" she gasped out as he jumped in front of her, drawing back defensively.

"Just get out of the way," the bearded man rasped coldly, narrowing his eyes at the furry animal before him.

"Are you okay?" Shirley yelled over to Damia, her bow in her hands.

"Y-yes…" she called back, getting shakily to her feet and reaching back for her hammer.

Nodding, Shirley grabbed for an arrow, drawing the string tight and letting it fly at the second mammoth. Belzac was already wielding his axe, with strong swings hacking at the enraged, territorial beast. Though the half-Giganto's strikes were getting through the thick, protective mats of fur on the mammoth's sides, Kanzas was forced to aim for the skull, trying to avoid the tusks and horns that swung by as the creature flailed its head.

"I can help too!" With a shriek, Damia ran forward, striking with all her might at the beast's knee before twisting around for another hit. Making huffing noises, it drew back, turning its head nearly sideways as it tried to strike her. The mammoth's trunk hit the girl in the chest, knocking her away again.

Snarling, Kanzas half-swiped at Damia as she stood up. "Didn't you hear me? Get out of my way!" Springing forward sharply, he used one of the tusks as leverage to fling himself higher above the mammoth's head, dragging his blades down through the flesh as he descended. Bright arterial blood sprayed in his wake, spattering the snow.

Her breath hitching, the half-mermaid forced back a sob, shaking her head. She looked over at Shirley, who was standing back and supporting Belzac with her arrows, and as the last dart drove through the second mammoth's eye, sending it toppling to the ground in death, her expression hardened suddenly. "I'm helping!" Putting the hammer head-down in the snow, Damia raised her arms, leaning back. "Haaa-!" She dropped forward, almost as if bowing, her fingers outstretched toward the beast.

Lurching backward in surprise, Kanzas whipped around sharply to look at the girl before quickly returning his gaze in time to see a handful of icicles the size of sword blades thrusting through the mammoth's thick hide. With one last bellow, it collapsed, the ground shaking slightly beneath it and snow flurries flying upward around the body.

"That was magic!" Shirley exclaimed, hugging her longbow to her as she and Belzac ran to the other two. "How did you-?"

"My mother could," Damia answered, panting for air. She swayed slightly, wiping her arm across her forehead. "I said… I could help you, Kanzas…"

Belzac lurched forward to catch her as she fell, kneeling down as Shirley crouched next to him. He felt the heat of the twelve-year-old's blood against his palm, and pulled it away to reveal the deep gash in her side. "Oh, poor child," the giant man murmured as Shirley leaned forward unasked, her Dragoon Spirit in her hands. "It must be hard for her, traveling with us like this."

"Huh, stupid kid," Kanzas snorted, wiping his hand through his wild hair and shaking his bearskin cloak straight again. "She should have just stayed back. She's too weak to keep up, even with magic."

"Just shut up!" Belzac snapped at him, scowling darkly. "If we hadn't freed you, we'd have been able to afford horses, or passage on a ship! If I hadn't knocked into that guy, Shirley would have been outbid, and we wouldn't have to worry about this!"

Dropping his hand, Kanzas pointed the claw blades at the other man, his brows knitted into a frown. "Did I ask to be bought?" he retorted, shaking his fist; a fine spray of mammoth blood speckled Belzac's tanned skin, making him flinch slightly. "I was under the impression it was Shirley's decision. I thought you supported her in _everything_, Giganto. What if she-"

"Stop it! Just stop it!" the woman shouted, her back tense and her knuckles white around the orb in her hands. The snow was still falling around them, and it was too cold for Damia to be lying there so long. The child's breath could still be seen as a cloud above her lips, but faintly, as if she was struggling for air. "If Damia dies because of the two of you, then Soa help you both!"

Belzac fell silent, turning his attention to the girl he held, though the anger he was feeling didn't dissipate at all, and Kanzas stood back several seconds later, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at Shirley with hooded eyes. Nodding hard, she held the Dragoon Spirit up, whispering under her breath, "White-Silver Dragon, please, heal this girl!"

The bright glow spread, bathing them all with its shining rays and forcing the three to close their eyes against its intensity. As it faded away, it seemed to take Damia's wound with it, leaving her pale skin whole and unbroken through the tear in the fabric of her tunic. Finally, she began to stir, her lashes fluttering as Belzac smoothed blue-green wisps of hair away from her eyes, and then sat up slowly.

"Good," Shirley sighed, sitting back on her heels in relief. "Better now, Damia?"

She nodded, leaning her cheek against Belzac's chest as if to comfort herself. "You healed me with the stone," she stated.

"Yes." She stood up, stretching a little, and bent to grab up her bow from where she'd dropped it, hooking it back on her pack. "Would you carry her, please, Belzac?" she asked in a soft voice, almost reluctantly. The memory of the argument still sat in her mind, but there was no need to bring it up right now. "We should keep going; the snow doesn't look like it's stopping anytime soon."

The big man stood up as well, cradling Damia in one arm. The girl looked as if she was about to protest, but thought against it, wrapping her arms affectionately around her friend's neck. He nodded, but didn't respond, still a bit stung by the fact that Shirley had shouted at him as well as Kanzas. He couldn't even remember the last time she'd been truly angry at him, and the thought made his chest ache oddly.

Pained, the red-haired woman turned toward the path and nearly smacked against Kanzas, getting bear fur in her nose for her effort. "Yes?" she asked, looking up at him impatiently when he gave no signs that he intended to get out of her way.

The wiry man was staring at the necklace of her Dragoon Spirit, still seeming to shine palely in one of the folds of her cloak. "This thing…" He ran his finger beneath the links, pulling it up so that the orb hung in front of his eyes. Shirley found herself rising onto her toes to ease the pressure of the short chain against the back of her neck before rocking forward, unbalanced.

Her hipbone hit against his, making her blush, and though Kanzas was apparently still examining the silvery-white orb she could feel his other hand move to her waist. She froze, watching him stare into the Dragoon Spirit, and without using any force at all he held her standing there on tiptoe against him, unable to move away.

"Only you can make it glow?" Kanzas asked her finally, his demeanor as calm as if they were standing five feet apart. Shirley frowned, feeling oddly foolish, in some way, for being so embarrassed. She could not find her voice to reply, reaching up to try to pull the necklace back.

Belzac's voice answered the younger man's question, sounding strangled and full of repressed rage, and as she took her pendant back Shirley looked at him, astonished by the unfamiliar attitude in his voice even despite the altercation a few minutes ago. "Yes," he forced out as civilly as he could. "It's hers alone. It's not just some store-bought magic trinket."

"Hn." Kanzas gave the half-Giganto a smug look, taunting him with the way he was playing with Shirley's emotions. However, he let go of the woman as she stepped back away from him, her head lowered a little and her hair hiding her expression from view. "So, what's so special about it?"

Belzac squeezed his free hand into an angry fist, otherwise staying still, and remained silent. Overreacting to this kind of thing was one habit he did _not_ want to get back into, despite the thought that was telling him how satisfying it would be to take the axe he was still holding and whack this man's head off - slowly. _Have to think of Damia, _he told himself, consciously adjusting her slight weight in his arm.

"In Vellweb, Kanzas," Shirley spoke up, standing tall again and looking calmer now. "I told you before; you have to wait. It's not my place to explain it. Only Lord Diaz may, because the secret of the power was revealed to him."

"Secret, huh?" He waved dismissively, as if he suddenly didn't care anymore. "Well, whatever."

Kanzas strode on ahead, and Shirley heaved a sigh, her shoulders slumping momentarily as she watched him go. _I don't understand him, _she thought, almost despairingly. _I don't understand him at all._ She'd felt such a strange sense of rightness when they'd found the two in Mekadris, as if with their presence they were filling some kind of hole inside her. So why did it have to be this way now?

"Hurry up, Shirley!" Damia's voice called in a kind of singsong, oblivious to the tension that had passed between the adults earlier. "We're leaving without you!"

She looked up suddenly to see the half-mermaid and Belzac already several feet ahead of her, Kanzas merely a dark shape in the distance. Quickly adjusting the straps of the pack on her back, she jogged forward to catch up with her friends, pushing the dark thoughts from her mind. "I'm coming, wait up!"

The journey was half over already, after all. Soon enough, she was sure, she would find out the truth behind the strange feelings she was having. Lord Diaz would have the answers - he had to.

* * *

"Wake up." 

Blinking groggily, Shirley turned over onto her stomach, hiding her face in the darkness of her folded arms. "Just a minute," she pleaded, muffled by her sleeves, but a foot pressed gently against her side, shaking her slightly. "Just one more minute. C'mon, Belzac, it's not even dawn yet…"

"Don't you know my voice yet?" Kanzas said, exasperated. "Get up, Shirley. You need to look at this."

_Oh, Divine Tree, but I hate being woken up early!_ "Later…" Suddenly, she felt herself being lifted from her bedroll, blankets and all, a hand muffling her cry of alarm. "Kanzas, what are you doing?" she hissed quietly, noticing that the other two were still asleep, although Belzac had apparently drifted off sitting up on watch. "Put me down!"

Ignoring her flailing, he carried her out from under the lip of shallow cave where they were encamped, pointing out across the dark, rocky peaks. They had been making their way through the Kashua mountain pass and were only hours from reaching Gloriano's flat plains; it was this direction he was making her look toward. "Your country's over there, right?"

Shirley squinted through the dark sky, wondering what Kanzas wanted her to see. "What, but I don't…"

"Up," he said gruffly, tilting her chin toward the sky.

Peering upward now, she suddenly realized what he was talking about and gasped hard, holding onto the man's shoulder and neck to steady herself. "Flanvel! No, oh no, what is Flanvel doing here?"

The huge flying fortress was hanging in the air just beyond the ridgeline; unlike the other floating structures of the Winglies, it could move around, and its purpose was to protect the stationary sky cities. The nearest ones were Zenebatos and the Crystal Palace, both of which were much farther away than this.

Kanzas' next words were quite serious, and did nothing to reassure her. "Burning things, I think. You can smell it."

"No!" Shirley cried, wriggling out of his grip and back to her feet on the ground, her blankets falling around her shoes. Running back into the cave, snow flying in her wake, she flew to Belzac's side, shaking him hard. "Get up! Belzac, Damia, get up quick! We have to go, now!"

His pale eyes flew open immediately, and he straightened, reaching to brush her cheek briefly with his fingertips. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Flanvel, Belzac! Faust is burning Gloriano!"

"Soa, no!"

She drew back, shaking her head hard, and turned to pull a groggy Damia into a sitting position. "Damia, come on! We have to go!"

Belzac jumped to his feet, gathering up his blankets as the young girl rubbed her eyes with the back of her arm, unhappy about being woken but curious at the same time as to what was happening. "What…?" she began, her question going unheeded.

Shirley began almost haphazardly snatching for things, trying to shove them into an open pack with a frantic kind of hysteria. "Fit, damn it!" she hissed, slapping at the worn leather when it refused to expand enough to let the bundle inside.

Her hands were shaking, almost uncontrollably, until suddenly they were covered by a larger pair, pressing them down onto the thick hide. "What can you do?" Kanzas asked her, his expression for once rational, almost sympathetic. "How would you being there stop a crazy Wingly in a flying tower from doing anything?"

The calm reasonableness of it made her even more angry and frightened, but she fought back the panic she was feeling, her voice still trembling as she retorted, "I have to do _something_!" Yanking her hands away, she abandoned the struggle with the pack, letting Belzac take it from her and finish with it.

At least _he_ was with her - at least he understood the worry she was feeling. The country of free Humans had become their home when she was still young, and the thought of the Winglies taking their hard-gained liberty away from them was too much to bear.

She began to pick up Damia's few things and pack them when the girl continued to sit and stare at them fuzzily, finally leaping up and turning to run outside again. _We have to hurry… we're still so far away, but maybe we can get there in time to help…_ Belzac was close behind her, his face drawn with worry, and followed her as quickly as he dared down the steep mountain trail leading north.

Their sudden absence made Damia slowly get to her feet; she glanced at Kanzas before wandering to the edge of the shallow cave, shivering in the cold air away from the fire. There was a haze of smoke more visible now across the peaks, a bright orange glow seeming to tint the nighttime clouds as well as dancing across the surface of the magical fortress in the air. "The Winglies are here too," she said softly. "Shirley looked so scared…"

"They're everywhere," Kanzas corrected darkly. Scuffling noises came from the back of the cave as he kicked dirt over the remains of the fire. "They rule the world. I don't know why she thought they'd leave a whole country of free Humans alone."

Damia gave a start as he moved up next to her, tossing her pack at her. She caught it with a grunt, scowling as the weight of the hammer made it hit hard against her chest, and then suddenly was running to catch up with him, yawning hard. "What do you think they're going to do?" she questioned, skidding on some loose gravel and flailing her arms to stay upright.

"I don't know. Don't care. It won't help anything, anyway. Run after them if you want, but if you fall in some hole I'm not helping you."

"I…" The twelve-year-old glanced at the dark trail ahead of them before shaking her head. "I'll stay. I don't want to go alone."

_Shirley must really have been worried if she ran off without thinking of the kid. _"Fine."

Flanvel was a fortress, created to protect the other floating cities; if it was burning Gloriano, then it meant that some high-up Wingly was worried about the threat from this country of Humans. Kanzas was certain it had to do with the power Shirley had mentioned, and now he was more inclined than ever to find out just what kind of force would make the Winglies so nervous.

As they made their way downhill, he found it odd that he and Damia had not quickly caught up with the other two, even taking into account that he was not hurrying at all and that some mountain creature had attacked them on the way, delaying them further. Shirley couldn't have been running the whole way, not this long, but she was definitely not stopping for anything. He almost envied the fact that she could care that much for something, even something as abstract as a country.

The smell and the gray, murky haze of smoke grew stronger, and at the top of a rise Kanzas stopped to look down, seeing what appeared to be a wall of flames blocking the trail at the bottom of the hill. Damia, who had been pushing herself to keep up for over an hour, bent to catch her breath before straightening and letting out a gasp of shock.

A Human outpost had lain on the mountainside, the buildings built against the steep slopes and supported by high stilt-like beams. It was now aflame, the sparks having ignited surrounding evergreen trees and threatening to start an even larger, more devastating blaze. The only thing controlling it at all was the fact that snowfall and generally moist conditions had left very little dry tinder for the fire to catch.

Damia was tired, hungry, and had a stitch in her side from trying to keep pace with Kanzas, but her discomfort melted away as she stared, horrified, toward the outpost's main square. "There's people down there!" she breathed, peering harder. "Flying - it looks like Winglies too! And then Shirley and Belzac-"

"Are there too, the fools," he finished harshly. "You'll want to run down and help them, I guess. Don't let me stop you."

She gave him a terrified look, gazing back and forth between the man and the burning buildings as if trying to decide which was worse. "They're our friends! Aren't they? They freed us, and you have to help - you're stronger than me, I can't do it by myself!" Damia pulled at his cloak, swiftly yanking her hand away when he smacked at it roughly. "Please, Kanzas!"

"You're asking _me_ to help?" he inquired calmly. "And why should I do this?" However, his mind answered that question before the girl could even open her mouth: _You should help them for Shirley's sake, because it would be stupid of you to lose her now. _"Stupid of her to go get herself killed for no reason," he retorted aloud, shaking his head and frowning.

Damia clutched at her hair, stamping her feet in frustration. "Please," she asked one more time before turning and bolting down the hill toward the burning outpost, trying to tug her hammer out of her pack as she went.

Biting back a snarl, Kanzas went after her, drawing his own weapon and holding it ready. He passed the girl as he reached the bottom, shrugging off the bearskin and letting its weight fall away. He picked up speed, seeing silhouetted against the blaze the dark outline of a figure in armor, sword in hand and shimmering wings looking like a mist of shadow behind it.

He gave a cry as he charged, slicing downward sharply as the Wingly turned around to face him. The silver-haired soldier immediately let out a scream, a burst of blood exploding along the side of his face as Kanzas' claws obliterated his left eye. A fierce punch to the jaw stopped the wail as his tongue was severed on his teeth, the next claw-strike snapping his head back and slicing open his throat. Blood from severed arteries sprayed outward, splattering him with red until the failing heart no longer beat.

"_Kanzas_!" came Damia's scream, nearly blocked out by the roar of the fire and the clunk of the armored corpse hitting the packed ground; she was staring at him in shock, her ruby eyes like platters.

"This is what you wanted! You wanted me to help you fight!" he hissed cruelly, bending to drag the soldier's body up again by the neck, the head lolling unnaturally back, as if on hinges. The man squeezed onto the unfeeling flesh, letting the blood run between his fingers, making rivulets down the back of his hand, before throwing the corpse hard behind him. "That's one!" he roared, turning away from the sickened child and running further toward the outpost square. "Any more? Come out now!"

Damia was completely aghast; though she'd seen him kill before, it had never been anything more than creatures, beasts with fangs, fur - not a Wingly, who could pass for Human - not a person. They were the enemy, she tried to reassure herself, running after him because she had nowhere else to go and no desire to stay by herself. It was okay to hurt the Winglies because they wanted to hurt her…

Even thinking that, she felt her stomach turn, her palms clammy and her grip on her hammer weakening… it was okay for them to fall down and die… the Wingly soldier's neck, gaping wide…

The half-mermaid nearly tripped over the next body, laying twisted on the debris-strewn path, and continued running, using her hammer only to knock fallen, half-charred wood out of her way. There were bodies everywhere she looked, it seemed; almost all were the corpses of Humans who had lived here, brought down by the fires or the invaders' blades.

Two Wingly soldiers who remained in this dying place were gathered in the small square, facing off against Belzac and Shirley, who stood back-to-back. Unable to use her bow at such a close distance, the woman had a dagger in her hand, slashing a bit inexpertly when a soldier came near.

Fending off a sword strike with a swing from his great axe, Belzac glanced over upon seeing Damia's movement. His eyes widened, and in that moment one of the Winglies traced a design in the air, sending a stream of fire jetting up around the large man's form. Gasping at the onslaught, Belzac swayed forward, receiving a sharp blow from a sword along his temple. Shirley made a choking noise as he fell, a worried expression on her face.

"Oh, no, Belzac!" Damia cried out, suddenly remembering something. She shoved her hand through the rip in her tunic, pulling a small vial out from inside her shirt. Uncorking it, she threw it hard at the soldiers ganging up on Shirley, squeezing her eyes closed in concentration as a golden cloud flickered into being above the Winglies, rainbow rays of light shooting down from its depths and slicing through the armed men. The magic grew stronger as she focused until she could hold it no longer, making them flinch away from the red-haired Human woman, distracted momentarily by the pain.

_Thank you, Damia, _Shirley thought, seeing no other choice. Even with the girl's help, she knew she would be quickly overwhelmed without Belzac's aid, not to mention the fact that his head wound was bleeding badly, and the fire was slowly surrounding them as well. Moreover, where was Kanzas? Had he left Damia to follow them on her own?

Feeling a wave of disappointment rise up within her, Shirley shoved her way back a little and pulled her bow from her back, looking quickly between the girl and her fallen friend. She didn't want to do this, but she had to make sure Belzac was all right. Taking a deep breath, she spread her arms wide, feeling her Dragoon Spirit respond to her mental entreaty.

A column of light enveloped her form, and although it was bright she didn't need to close her eyes, feeling a wave of energy very much like feathers coalescing around her, growing heavier as it formed her white and bronze armor. Her wings were flapping as the light dissipated, leaving her hovering off the ground, her bow in her hands larger now and more elaborate.

The Winglies facing her jerked back, looking at each other for explanations, odd fear on their faces. Taking advantage of their wariness, she drew her bow back, a beam of light feeling tangible beneath her fingers, serving as an arrow. "Moon… Light!" Shirley cried, leaning back to send the dart flying upward.

The clouds of smoke parted as it went, revealing the bright face of the immobile moon above them, and as if knocked down by her shot, a pillar of golden radiance rushed down from the sky, surrounding her with its glow.

"She's Human, isn't she?" she could hear a Wingly ask apprehensively, on the edges of her hearing. He gave a cough upon inhaling some of the smoke collecting in the area. "How is this-"

Drawing down her arms, Shirley directed the glow at Belzac, watching it rise up around him, blue now, as if having traveled through the ground. The wound on his head shrank, and he blinked to clear his vision, staggering up to his feet.

One glance at the red-haired woman told him all he needed to know, and he looked at her with sad understanding before hefting his axe and rushing for one of the stunned soldiers. Two armor-breaking slices were enough to send him flying a short distance, crumpling against the burning beam of a house and making it creak ominously. A glowing arrow drove into the chest of the other one, followed by icicles from Damia, making him fall as well.

Panting for breath, Belzac straightened and turned toward the girl, who was gazing in awe at Shirley, her entire body radiating wary fear. "Damia," he gasped, wiping at the sweat on his forehead, "we shouldn't have left you alone, I'm sorry…"

"I-I wasn't," she began, looking around uneasily before creeping closer and wrapping her hand into the fabric of his cloak. Wordlessly, the girl pointed, and Belzac followed the line of her gaze to see Kanzas standing at the edge of the square. His dark amber eyes, serious and speculative, never left the white winged figure hovering in the middle of it.

Shirley, hugging her bow to her in relief, quickly looked up as the man stalked up to her, and bit her lip as she took in the blood covering him, spattering his bare arms and turning his fists a stained red color she could see despite the bright glow of the fires around them. "You took care of Damia for me, thank you…"

Ignoring that, he demanded, "What the hell is that armor? Shirley! Tell me! It's that stone of yours, isn't it?"

Weary from the fight, she felt her Dragoon armor shimmering away, the rays of white light making Kanzas cover his eyes with his arm briefly before she felt her feet touch the ground once more, her normal robe and cloak back again. "Please, Kanzas, don't," she said softly, shaking her head. "I can't…"

He grabbed hold of her upper arms and shook her; his face seemed wild in the fire's glow, and her brows knit apprehensively. She felt like a rag doll, without the strength to resist his rage. "Tell me how you can do magic! Tell me, Shirley!"

The punch Belzac threw knocked the bearded man back several steps, his grip on her arms nearly dragging her with him before he broke away, dropping into a defensive stance. "Do that again and you die!" Belzac snarled, looming over Kanzas with both hands now on the haft of his axe.

Shirley could see red handprints on her sleeves when she glanced down, and swallowed heavily before looking back up, ready to break up the fight once more. However, her words changed in her throat as a creaking noise met her ears. "Watch out!" the redheaded woman cried in alarm.

The two men, acting on instinct, dove out of the way as the framework of a gutted house collapsed, sending a flare of fire upward and spraying bits of burning wood and ash everywhere. The air immediately grew hazier, making them all cough more than they had been before. "Damn it," Belzac bellowed, "this place is falling apart!"

"Shirley!" Kanzas shouted again insistently. "I don't care if the whole damn mountain's falling! _Tell me_-"

Grabbing hold of Damia's hand, Shirley began pulling her away from the square, waving an arm for the other two to follow. _There's no time for this now! _"No! Let's go! We'll finish this later, Kanzas!" she called loudly, nearly dragging the unresisting girl toward the path out of town. Belzac was at her side in a moment, and, cursing loudly, the smaller man soon caught up as well, looking very irritated with current events. He wouldn't be any happier when she told him she couldn't answer his questions.

She put the thought of that aside for a moment, concentrating on getting everyone out of the hills before the blaze and the smoke grew worse. An inner voice was laughing at her, telling her that, for all her struggles, she hadn't helped anything, and she tried to shake it away, tears forming in her eyes as she glanced upward. Through the haze of smoke, she could still see Flanvel, its spiral shape moving slowly toward the northeast, almost at a sedate pace.

They were not going to get away with this. Not while she still had breath.


	3. Chapter Three

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter Three

Worried, Shirley looked up at the sleeping child, trying to gauge her expression past the fall of her brightly-colored hair. Two days had passed since their rushed entrance into Gloriano, and since then Damia had been having nightmares that kept her from sleeping at night. So they would still be able to keep moving, Belzac had been carrying her when she nodded off, letting her sleep over his shoulder as they traveled.

Shirley had tried, but without success, to get the girl to tell her about the bad dreams; she had the feeling that they stemmed from the fight in the outpost, but she wasn't sure how to assuage Damia's fears. Everyone was exposed to death and dying eventually, but this particularly violent sort was hard for even adults to handle, much less someone who was still only twelve.

Half-smiling at her anxiety, Belzac shook his head. "We aren't far now," he commented, nodding toward the large hill just ahead of them.

"That's right. Would you wake her when we get there?" Shirley asked him, returning his nod. "Fort Magrad's right over that hill, Kanzas," she announced calmly, glancing toward him before finding the sight of the hill in front of her greatly interesting. He had grown very distant since she'd refused to explain the Dragoon power to him, but she'd felt his gaze on her many times since then, just watching her closely.

Rather than bring it up, or respond to it, she merely ignored it, trying to act normal and talk as casually with him as with the other two. Still, some strange emotion inside her made her feel clumsy, and she wondered if he could tell from her voice. She hadn't felt this way since she'd been younger, awkwardly courted by the boy from the neighboring farm - but those days were far in the past, and had nothing to do with what was happening now, Shirley assured herself.

The fortress before them was huge, a great stony mass built into another high hill, its walls thick and tall. The tops of the walls were covered in spikes, long and curved like claws, which both rimmed the top of the wall pointing downward and drew together in a domelike shape near the top, as if to protect Magrad from the sky itself.

Shirley smiled, noticing Kanzas' badly-hidden start of surprise, the crunch of his footsteps in the powdery snow stopping momentarily. "Humans made that?" he asked, the sound of his raspy voice startling in its own right after he'd been quiet for so long.

Nodding, she said proudly, "Just wait until you see Vellweb."

He was walking again almost immediately as they made their way carefully down the slippery slope on the other side. "Winglies _let_ Humans make that?" he pressed, taking in the fort's odd design.

Belzac answered him, having over the last two days put aside his anger for the sake of the others. "Gloriano has had a strange relationship with the Winglies," the large man explained, moving ahead of Shirley so she could step in his deep footprints to help her down the steep incline. "Of course, they've been raiding villages for slaves for a long time, but only when Melbu Frahma came into power did they start declaring us," his voice dropped into a sneer, "unfit to exist."

"In the past," Shirley went on, "they were still gaining power over everyone, too. But you're right, if we tried to build Magrad today, or Vellweb too, they would try to stop us." _And Lord Diaz is really risking things with his towers and his battery, _she thought to herself, thinking of the construction going on in the city. _They're watching us, but thankfully they don't realize just what is happening yet._ "But it's strong, and we can hold it for quite some time…"

They were preparing for a war; Kanzas could feel that certainty almost straight through. It was almost as certain that Shirley's mysterious power was also for war. Gloriano was preparing to fight the Winglies, and she wanted him to help - she'd bought him so he could help. "There is no way I'm joining some useless war," the man said aloud.

"What was that?" Shirley asked, too far ahead to hear.

He shook his head and caught up again, arms crossed for warmth, as he'd left the pelt he'd been wearing behind in the mountain outpost and was too proud to complain that he was cold as a result. The large bruise Belzac's punch had left on his jaw was feeling tender as well, making him irritable. "Look, how long are we going to be here?"

"Just overnight," the short woman replied as they joined the icy trail that led to the front gates. "We need to pick up some more supplies, and we should take the time to rest a little. Vellweb is two more days to the north."

The fort seemed almost tiered from this angle, as if there was another level of it lower down the hill, carved into its side. There were guards at the huge stone gates, cracked open enough to let people and carts of goods through, and they bowed to Shirley and Belzac as they passed. "Lady Shirley, Sir Belzac," one of them said, holding his hand out to halt them. "It's good to see you back safely! Rose wants to meet with you soon, if you can spare the time."

"Oh, does she?" Belzac said, raising an eyebrow. "Thank you." As they continued into the fortress, he looked down at Shirley, saying, "I wonder if the news of the attacks has reached here yet."

"We can't have been the only ones to see the tower," she answered in a soft voice, suddenly whirling as a hand tapped her on the shoulder. "Kanzas?"

He regarded her expressionlessly for a moment before raising his hand in a kind of wave. "I'm going to have a look around," he said shortly before turning to walk off.

Taken aback, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called after him, "We'll be at the inn!" Sighing as he made no acknowledgment, disappearing around the corner of the square into a side street, she reached up to hold her Dragoon Spirit for comfort. "Let's go meet with Rose, Belzac. I… have a feeling."

"A feeling?" he asked quizzically, glad to see the other man go. He shifted Damia down from his shoulder, cradling the sleeping child in both arms as she began to show signs of waking up again. "But we already know Rose is a candidate. Zieg even confirmed it."

"I'll know more later," she responded with a wan smile, gazing around at the dark stone buildings inside the surrounding walls, the noise of many people roaring around them. The sky above the spiked 'dome' was clear and blue, the air less fresh-smelling than outside but still soothing. She'd spent a lot of time in Fort Magrad when she'd first come to Gloriano, and despite the fact that most of the people here were soldiers or fighters, it was almost a second home to her.

Damia was whimpering softly in her sleep now, flailing around a little, and as gently as possible Belzac woke her up. When her ruby eyes flew open, she tensed in fear, twisting to cling onto the man's neck. "Where are we?" she squeaked, looking a bit overwhelmed at having woken up to this after traveling so long through the wilderness.

As Belzac explained, Shirley led them toward a long, low building set near the center of the fort's upper level. Rose would be found here in the practice hall, training soldiers; she too had once been a slave, freed most unexpectedly, but she had learned the sword long before she'd come here and was now teaching others to fight.

"And where's Kanzas?" Damia asked hurriedly, her long hair whipping as she looked around.

"Not here," the half-Giganto replied shortly.

She nodded, fiddling with the fastener of her pale blue cape. "Can you let me down now?"

"Okay," Belzac agreed, setting her down. She still kept close, however, following the two inside the practice building and watching everything curiously.

The object of their search was in an upper corner of the large mat-covered floor, holding a rapier lightly in one hand and facing a teenager with the same. The woman shook her head, a long tail of black hair flying over her shoulder with the movement. She was wearing dark leggings and a long navy-colored tunic, a winding belt holding it close around her waist like a short dress. "Not even close. Do it again," she told her student seriously.

The young man lunged, driving his thin blade forward toward the woman's stomach. It glanced lightly against her side as she twisted, swinging her own sword to the side to counter. The point of the rapier flicked upward, nicking the boy's cheek, and he jumped back in alarm, scrambling to stay upright.

"Always be careful to watch for a counterattack!" she lectured, bringing her sword up again. "Now-"

"Rose," Shirley called, and the woman turned to look at them, a small smile gracing her lips.

Gesturing for the teenager to take a rest, she walked up to them with light steps. "Shirley, Belzac, I see you're back from the slave markets," she greeted, nodding to them. "Is this the newest…?"

Nodding, Shirley placed her hand on Damia's back, making her move forward a bit. "This is Damia," she introduced; the girl curtseyed almost automatically, the slender woman returning the motion with a slightly exaggerated bow. "Damia, this is Rose, our sword expert."

Chuckling, she replied, "Oh, I'm hardly an expert, but I know enough to start training the soldiers. Zieg is the expert on swordsmanship - if you can ever track him down, that is."

"Pleased to meet you," Damia mumbled, looking at her with a little awe. New people still tended to make her nervous, especially someone as _controlled_ as this.

"The same to you." Rose looked to Belzac, smiling. "So, you saved a child," she began, "but did you also find one you were sent for?"

Stammering a little, the large man began, "Well, we - that is-"

"Yes," Shirley said emphatically, giving him a questioning look. "We found a fighter, too. He's off looking around…" Shaking her head, unable to figure out why her friend was being so hesitant about acknowledging Kanzas, she looked back to Rose, feeling the other woman's pale blue eyes on her. "Anyway, I'm glad you left a message with the gate guards, because I have something I want to talk to you about as well."

"Oh, really?" Rose nodded thoughtfully, twirling the end of her ponytail around her finger. "Then you have heard about Flanvel Tower invading?"

"That thing," Damia said suddenly, shuddering and hiding her face in her hands. "I can't forget seeing that thing…"

Concerned, Belzac gently stroked the top of her head, telling Rose, "We saw it burning an outpost at Kashua Pass. Were there any others?"

"Villages here and there," she answered, suddenly sheathing her sword and crossing her arms lightly under her chest. "Silvermoor and Fountain in particular. But it hasn't come any nearer than just over the border, it seems."

"Lord Diaz must know by now," Shirley stated, worried, and Rose gave her a nod. "What is Faust waiting for?"

Shrugging, the dark-haired woman answered, "Who knows? But, if I were you, I'd head back to Vellweb soon, Shirley. Lord Diaz is going to need all three of you with him if Flanvel advances any further."

"About that…" she began, searching the faces of both her friends and giving Damia a kind look. The girl didn't really know what they were talking about, but was listening intently anyway. "I think… I'd like you to come along with us, Rose. There may be three of us now, but there are four more waiting, and I believe the time to awaken these four powers is close at hand."

_Oh, Shirley, I don't know, _Belzac thought, his brows furrowing. He hung his head a bit, golden-brown hair falling into his face. He had earth affinity, and Shirley had named him candidate for the Golden Dragon's waiting spirit, but he wasn't at all sure that he had the actual right to possess it. It had always somehow felt like he had been named because he was Shirley's friend, that she hoped so much it was true she was trying to _make_ it true.

Rose too looked a bit subdued; she was the candidate for the Dark Dragoon Spirit, having been discovered by one of the current Dragoons, Zieg. However, in the years that the secret of the spirits had been known, several potentials had died trying to obtain their power. She finally spoke up, saying, "It'll be a race against time, then. There's Belzac and I, but what about the other two?"

"That friend of Syuveil's, Shynn, is the candidate for the Blue Sea Dragon," Belzac reminded her, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard by any of the practicing soldiers. "But there is none for the other." He waited for Shirley to disagree, knowing that she would, and wasn't disappointed.

"I'll be declaring Kanzas for thunder," she announced, raising her eyebrow at the tall man, "once we get to Vellweb. So we do have everyone, now."

Rose bit her lip slightly, tapping her foot in thought. "That's the fighter you just bought?" she queried. "You're sure, after such a short time?"

Shirley nodded, though vague misgivings were making themselves known to her. Belzac voiced one of these, his pale-white eyes oddly stern. "You bought him from the criminal blocks," he reminded her, making her wince slightly. "Would he make a good Dragoon?"

"We've never freed criminals before," Rose said, feathery brows furrowing, "though you'd think they would have as much a grudge against Winglies as any other slave. Maybe more."

Damia's voice broke in, very softly; she was talking more to herself than them, her back turned, but it was still audible as she remarked, "He does hate Winglies. He hates them a lot."

"Damia?" Belzac asked curiously, and she spun around, blushing, before beckoning toward the giant man. He followed her a short distance away before crouching down in front of her, taking in her distracted appearance, her eyes baggy from lack of sleep. "Sorry we've been ignoring you; is something wrong?"

She nodded hesitantly, looking around him briefly to see Shirley resume talking with Rose. "Kanzas killed Winglies," she professed, leaning forward to whisper closely in his ear. "That time, in the forest."

He blinked, wondering what she meant by that exactly. "We all did…" Belzac said, remembering that horrible night. "We had to, Damia."

"Not that way, not so - so cruel. The soldier's eye and his neck, and he touched the blood - I think he really hates them, and-" Swallowing heavily, the girl went on, "I look a lot like a Wingly, and I'm scared that he'll want to kill me too."

Shocked, Belzac reached for her small hand, enfolding it completely in his. "We won't let that happen," he assured her strongly.

"Do you think he really would?" she asked, wide-eyed.

The man paused, troubled, but he knew what he had to say, no matter what he actually believed. "Of course not. We all shouldn't have to kill anyone, but the Winglies won't leave us in peace."

She scuffed her boot against the practice mat beneath her, sighing, and her gaze grew hard, almost resentful. "You were talking about stones like Shirley's, one for each element," she declared, watching shock once more bloom across Belzac's broad face at her sense of perception. "I don't think he should get one!"

"That's not for us to decide," he told her, inwardly agreeing. However, it wouldn't be right to kindle hatred within the child, no matter if it was deserved or not, and so he kept that to himself as well. "What would you like done about this, Damia?"

"I don't know," she whispered, clearly wanting him to solve the problem for her. "But, Belzac, please, don't tell Shirley!"

It was an odd request, forcing him into silence for a while, and he finally came up with, "Can I ask you why not?"

She squatted down, crouching in a miserable ball with her arms wrapped around her knees. "She likes him," Damia finally mumbled. "She'd be mad at me if she heard me talking bad about him. She might not like me anymore, like Anna, my friend in the big house. She used to be my friend but she wouldn't talk to me after I said something about Reg…"

He didn't hear the rest of her rambling explanation; it felt as though she'd taken his heart and squeezed it, the resentful pain rising up into his throat like bile. Belzac knew he was jealous of Shirley's affections, had known it for years, and he'd thought he was just imagining that there was _something_ developing between Kanzas and Shirley, but to hear it from the mouth of a child who hadn't known any of them very long just confirmed his fears.

"…So I've been having bad dreams about it, ever since the forest and the fire and that Wingly," Damia finished, breaking him out of his thoughts.

He shook his head to clear it, not happy to hear that this was the reason for her nightmares. Even though she'd just asked him not to tell Shirley, the truth was that the woman would be a much better choice to intercede with Kanzas than him - at least it wouldn't end up in violence, would it? "Damia, I understand what you're worrying about, but," he tried to explain, "I still think Shirley would be able to help make your nightmares stop."

"But-" she began in a half-whine.

"She's not going to stop speaking to you," he said softly, confessing, "I don't know what she's thinking sometimes, but I know she wouldn't let anything - _anyone_ - harm you. Do you really mind if I ask her to help? She'd…" He swallowed his distaste for her sake, putting his hand on her shoulder. "She'd talk to Kanzas for you, all right?"

"I guess, Belzac." She smiled wanly, standing straight again, and the man did the same, nodding reluctantly. "Thanks." Turning away for a moment, the teal-haired girl stared upward, looking at the rafters. "I didn't know my dad," she told him unexpectedly, the words barely audible, "and my mom died when I was eight. And now I'm so far away from home, and I miss the ocean. My skin feels dry, and I'm so tired. What's going to happen to me when we get to Vellweb? What happens to kids you bought like me?"

"There's a home for children," he said. "Sometimes families adopt them. But," Belzac began, seeing her mouth open in protest, "I teach at the school, Damia, so don't you worry, you'll still be seeing us."

She stepped forward, clinging tightly to his arm. "Belzac," the half-mermaid pleaded, "I want you to adopt me. You can be my dad. I don't want to go with any strangers! I don't want to be alone again…"

He ruffled her hair gently. "I wish I could," Belzac answered, happy images of he, Shirley and Damia as a real family flittering through his mind. However, the reality of the oncoming war intruded. The Golden Dragon was still waiting, perhaps to destroy him for daring to claim a spirit that wasn't his, and if it _did_ accept him he couldn't give her the attention she needed. Still, he felt closer to Damia than any of the other children they'd freed; perhaps it was their shared bond of being half-human.

"Maybe after a while?" she asked hopefully.

Smiling sadly, he glanced over his shoulder, noting that Shirley and Rose were now waiting patiently for them to finish. It was time to get moving again. "Maybe. We'll see," he replied, looking back down. "We'll see."

* * *

The small group stood near the gates as dawn bloomed across the horizon, slowly brightening the sky where it could be seen between the arching spikes above. With yawns occasionally catching from one to another, they waited, their laden packs sitting at their feet. 

"Can't we just go?" Damia finally spoke up, shifting her weight restlessly. She was feeling more energetic than she had been lately, having slept well the night before. "Maybe he's not coming back."

"Of course he is. Just have patience," Shirley returned, looking around the still-quiet square in vain. As much as she wanted to tell herself that Kanzas wouldn't just leave them now, she knew that she couldn't be sure of that. He had not joined them at the inn the night before, and she was beginning to worry a little. There weren't that many places to stay in Magrad, and she'd sent around to all of them, finding nothing.

Damia gave Belzac a 'told-you-so' look, spinning in aimless circles. Rose stood away from the wall she was leaning on, raising her hand. "Shirley," she said seriously, "if this man doesn't know to meet us here now, then we're only wasting time waiting."

"Yes, but," she protested, wrinkling her nose, "we can't just - just _leave_…"

"He knows we're headed to Vellweb. He can catch up on the way," Belzac pointed out. If he was going to leave them whenever he felt like it, he couldn't expect them to wait around for him to drift on back.

Reluctantly, she nodded, though saying, "Yes, but, the directions-"

"It's not hard to follow a road." Rose gave the younger woman a small smile, shouldering her pack. "And Vellweb is pretty hard to miss as well."

Sighing, Shirley leaned down to grab her own bag, the Dragon Spirit swinging down on its necklace, and as she straightened she grabbed hold of the small silvery-white orb, furrowing her brows. _I wonder…_ She was aware of the others moving behind her toward the gate, but remained in place, looking toward Magrad's inner weave of streets. _You're here somewhere, aren't you?_

There was a flicker of movement in the early-morning shadows, and suddenly the red-haired woman's face brightened. She raised her hand, waving it above her head, and shouted, "Hello? Kanzas! We're over here!"

The noise echoed in the quiet square, and she fell silent again, watching with satisfaction as a figure peeled away from the darkness of a narrow alley, walking casually toward them. The wiry man had acquired another cloak somehow, a dark-colored wrap of cloth that swirled around his knees as he approached, and he wore an almost puzzled expression. The new smile on Shirley's face, however, was making Belzac look vaguely ill, and Rose thoughtful in turn.

"That's odd," Kanzas murmured, crossing his arms as he came to a stop in front of the group. "I wasn't expecting you to be out here so early." In fact, he hadn't even meant to walk toward the square, but his feet had taken him through the alley anyway; it sounded strange enough that he didn't feel like mentioning it, however.

"We wanted to get a head start," Shirley replied, unconsciously tucking the small jewel back under her collar. He gave it a suspicious look, his gaze darkening at the thought that he'd been manipulated somehow by the stone's power. She didn't seem to notice, however, pulling the edges of her white cloak around her. "I said we'd be at the inn…"

"Yeah, you did. You didn't say to be there at any particular time." He smiled shortly, leaving her unsure if he was teasing or not.

"Oh, that's nice," Shirley huffed. "Are you ready to leave, then? We're starting off now."

He shrugged. "Sure, whatever." Kanzas looked toward the gate, blinking once. "Who's she?"

"Who? Oh! Let me introduce you!" Spinning around, she hurried back toward the rest of the small group waiting for them, the man following at a slower pace. Reaching her friend's side, she said, "Rose, this is Kanzas, who I was telling you about? And this is Rose; she trains soldiers here for us."

"Pleased to meet you," she said politely, inclining her head.

"You don't much look like a rose," Kanzas commented idly as if he hadn't heard, eying the woman.

A bit startled at his lack of manners, she gave him a stare, putting her hands on her hips, and finally replied, "Well, you don't much look like an idiot, but you never can tell from appearances."

Belzac choked back his laughter at that, knowing it wouldn't help things. He gave Rose an approving smile, however, before glancing to find Damia standing well away from them, waiting by the gate. His smile faded, and he reminded himself to talk to Shirley about the girl's matter as soon as he could.

"Mm," Kanzas answered in a pleased voice, ignoring the giant man's amusement but remembering it for later, "are you willing to back that up, then?"

"If I need to," she retorted coldly, her dark hair flying behind her at the toss of her head.

His fingers moved toward the claw sheath on his belt, Rose's hand flying to the hilt of her rapier, but Shirley's own hand whipped out and closed tightly around his wrist. Though her grip alone couldn't have kept him from his weapon, he stopped anyway, hesitating.

"Please," she said, her eyebrows knitting; she was wearing such a look of sadness, of disappointment, that Kanzas felt the urge to step back, to look away. "What's the need for this? We still have two days left traveling…"

"I don't need a reason for anything," he said defiantly, meeting Rose's hard glare before smirking at her. She turned away indifferently, heading toward the gate, and Belzac fell into step next to her with one final glance in Shirley's direction. He moved to step forward, but the small woman remained firm, holding onto his wrist. "What now?"

About to say something, Shirley shook her head and sighed instead, peering up at his face. "That's an awful bruise," she murmured, reaching up to touch it gently. After three days now it had turned a sickly yellow color, edged in black. His beard felt scratchy beneath her fingertips.

Kanzas flinched away from the contact, scowling. "Ow," he said plainly. "Tell your friend not to hit so hard next time, then."

She winced at that, finally letting go of him. "He overreacts. So do you. And there's not going to _be_ a next time."

"Do not be so sure about that," he taunted lightly, waving his finger at her. "Do not be so sure."

"I don't know why I put up with you," she sighed in exasperation, turning to follow the others, who had long since passed through the gates.

Kanzas started walking next to her, draping an arm around her shoulders. She shrugged it off immediately, and he asked blatantly, "So, why do you?"

Shirley's face turned red, and she fidgeted nervously, struggling to find a response that wouldn't… well, start something. She still couldn't explain to him about the Dragoon Spirit, and any other truthful answers would upset the little group's delicate balance. "I consider you my friend," she finally blurted out. "It sounds silly, because we just met a week ago, but that's the truth of it."

"Is that all?" he said softly, his fingers brushing the back of her neck before falling away. "Your friend?"

"I - yes!" the redhead cried out, jumping forward a bit. She looked up the road to see the other three waiting on a clump of snow-covered boulders and hastened her pace a little. Her voice grew a bit tetchy, and she put her hands on her hips. "You know what one is, I hope?"

Kanzas shrugged, looking amused. "Well, that's a shame."

She glanced at him warily. "Why?" _What game are you playing with me now?_

"Maybe, when we get to your city, I'll tell you." He chuckled, continuing to walk as they reached Belzac, Damia and Rose at the top of the hill.

Shirley rolled her eyes at the childish parting shot, turning to them with a helpless look. "Well, is everything all right?" she asked brightly.

"Yes, I think so," Belzac said slowly, standing again. Reproachfully, he added, "He just went off again, you know, after all that."

"I know. It's fine." She gestured weakly before reaching out to take Damia's hand and pull her upright. There were unasked questions floating between them, but she pushed them firmly away, determined to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Shall we? The sun's up already."

They moved northward in silence for a while; in this chilly climate, even with the sun warming them high above, the snow remained piled across the flat plains. It reflected the light, making it hard to see, and they trudged single-mindedly for several hours before stopping to have something to eat.

Something had been bothering Shirley about Damia since they'd started out; she'd been thinking that the girl had been almost unnaturally quiet, and now she knew it was true. As the adults began passing out portions of bread, hard cheese and cold sausage - Kanzas joining them for once - she noticed that the half-mermaid was keeping away from the rest of them, huddling almost dejectedly on top of a fallen log.

Belzac had told her on the way the reason why Damia had been having nightmares, and everything had suddenly become clear. She'd agreed to talk to Kanzas about it, but how to go about that was the real question. Now was a good time to do it, though, before he went on ahead again.

Taking a bite of biscuit, she rose from her seat in a clear spot under a pine tree, crunching her way through the drifts toward Kanzas. Silently, Shirley offered him a piece of cheese, which he took with similar quietness. Swallowing hard, she murmured, "Could you do me a favor?"

"Oh, really?" he exclaimed in mock-surprise. "This is sudden…"

"Come on." Frowning, she continued, "Damia's afraid of you now, since we had to fight in the outpost."

He looked unsurprised, finishing his lunch calmly. "Is that why she's been lagging around? It's not my fault she got scared."

Shirley gave him a stern look, the best she could muster. "She thinks it is, because she looks a bit like a Wingly. Tell her that you won't hurt her. It's really bothering her. Could you just _talk _to her, Kanzas?"

"To ease her mind or to ease yours?" he asked shortly. "We'll be there tomorrow, and then she'll go off wherever she's going and never see me again. She'll get over it."

She didn't want to think about that, about suddenly losing the feeling of… of family she'd felt since leaving Mekadris. "Well, then, do it for my sake," Shirley said persuasively, taking his hand and squeezing it. Funny how his fingers always looked slightly reddish, as if old stains had been ground in somehow.

Kanzas stared down at her as if she'd suddenly grown a third eye before tightening his own grip, rigid enough to make her fingers turn purple. "For you, hm? You won't even answer my question."

Aware of the subtle power struggle, she ignored the pressure, continuing, "Please, just talk to her. You'll find out what you want to know soon enough."

He blew out a breath of air. "Fine, but you owe me for this." He let go of her hand suddenly, turning and stalking toward the girl's hunched form, and she shook it to get the blood flowing again.

"You trust him to say the right thing?" Rose asked softly, leaning against a tree trunk behind the red-haired woman. "He might just make it worse. He doesn't seem to have patience for children."

Shrugging, Shirley felt Belzac approach as well, putting his hand on her shoulder. He didn't approve, she knew, but he couldn't protect Damia forever, either. She leaned against him slightly, answering, "He tolerates her more when she is being a child rather than a fighter. I think it'll be okay." They fell silent, watching to see what would happen between the two.

Damia flinched a little as Kanzas came near, turning her head to look at Shirley questioningly. The woman gave a gesture for her to carry on, and warily she gazed upward again, saying nothing.

"I'm supposed to talk to you," he said in a rather dull voice, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at the young girl. _Such a damned chore. _"You're afraid of me."

Very hesitantly, and with another glance toward the others, she nodded. In explanation, Damia lifted her finger to her neck, tracing a jagged line across her throat. "He was a Wingly," she whispered finally. "But you… I… I didn't want that!"

"It's what fighting is." He shrugged. "Shirley and Belzac killed those soldiers."

Damia stared down at her feet, leaning forward and hugging her knees. "It's different," she mumbled in a low voice.

Kanzas dropped into a squat, regarding her thoughtfully closer to her level. "Maybe it is," he conceded, eyes narrowing as she flinched back at the motion. _They didn't enjoy it…_ "Look, I'm not going to kill _you_, kid. I don't really feel like having an arrow through my head."

The corners of her lips quirked in a smile she tried to repress. "Or an axe?"

"That too." The man scratched at his beard, rising back up to his feet again. "Are you going to keep up now? You're slowing us down."

She sighed, rocking back a little and tilting her head to the side. The look she gave him was old, momentarily aging her face beyond its years. He was suddenly reminded that Damia was half-human, maybe even less of a child than she seemed. "Are you gonna promise you won't - won't hurt any of us? Even if you get mad?"

Blinking, Kanzas retorted automatically, "What kind of question is that?"

Damia slowly stood up, looking nervous, her hammer held loosely in her hand. He glared at her impatiently; she stared at the ground before lunging forward into a swing. Kanzas raised his arm to block the blow, the mallet slamming hard into his forearm, and Shirley gasped, taking a step forward with Rose and Belzac not far behind. _I can't believe she did that! _the healer thought, feeling her heart drop into her stomach.

A moment after the strike hit, Kanzas flicked his hand forward, grabbing hold of the hammer's shaft and wrenching it from Damia's sweaty hands and into a snowdrift behind him. Though he'd raised his other fist, he made no other move to retaliate, simply watching the girl as she jerked backward several feet away.

Relieved, Shirley placed her hand on Belzac's arm, shaking her head at him. "They just need to work this out for themselves," she told him under her breath. He growled softly but acquiesced, hoping she was right; Rose also gave the redhead a skeptical look for her trusting.

"Are you gonna kill me now?" Damia goaded in a rush, her body full of scared adrenaline.

"No," Kanzas answered, rolling his eyes and flexing his aching arm, "but I hope you realize how really stupid that was. What if I'd… got mad?"

A small smirk rising on her face, flushed now with satisfaction, she raised her hands, pantomiming a bowshot. "They'd stop you," she said confidently.

His chuckle began low in his throat, rising into a bark of laughter. He shook his head in vague amusement before stepping closer; Damia once again flinched but then held her ground, trying to keep the brave feeling she had. Kanzas leaned down to tell her softly, "Gamble your own life if you want, kid, but be careful about the others'. Maybe… if I'd got mad, you know… I'd have killed all of you."

The teal-haired girl was momentarily taken aback, looking shamefaced, but then shook her head emphatically. "Not Shirley," she whispered impishly. "You _like_ her."

Kanzas pulled back as if her words had actually stung him, his brows knitting sharply. "What?" he spat, almost bewildered.

"I can tell!" Damia laughed, the nasty giggle of a child who has just figured something out. She instantly looked a lot more confident than before. "If you hurt us," she told him smugly, "she won't like you back."

Not sure how to react to this kind of youthful teasing, the russet-haired man turned away. "Whatever."

Giggling once more, she called out, "I'm going to tell!"

He whipped back around, glowering, and she shrieked, retreating toward the other three, who were now baffled at the sudden change. However, her screech held little fear in it, and Rose snorted in derision when the girl hid behind her, stepping out of the way. "I'm not going to be your shield," she remarked, amused.

"If you say anything, Damia," he shouted to her, raising his fist up, "I'll-"

"What, kill me?" Leaning out from behind Belzac this time, she stuck out her tongue.

Shirley held up her hand, her quiet laugh joining the other two's. "I think that's enough," she advised the twelve-year-old quietly. "Don't push it." The snow crunching under her feet as she walked forward, she joined Kanzas and gave him a smile. "Thank you. You've… really eased my mind."

"Don't expect me to make a habit of it," he retorted sullenly.

Nodding in acceptance of that, she pressed, "I do mean it. With the Winglies, and traveling and all, she doesn't need to fear her… her friends. She's too young for all of this…"

He snorted, waving his hand dismissively at her before turning and walking off on his own again, her disappointed sigh reaching his ears as he left. _So were we, Shirley, when our lives got scary, _Kanzas answered her silently, his gaze hard and unmoving, looking straight ahead, _but who was ever there to make _my_ fear go away?_

* * *

"I've never seen so many people in my whole life! And look - there's some Minintos over there! Aren't they tiny? I've only seen them before once ever. Mm, what's that smell? It smells like bread! Fresh bread! Can we get some, Belzac? My mouth is watering!" 

"I don't see how it could be," the man answered lightly, laughing at Damia's excitement. "It's been open to the breeze since we got here." She didn't pay much attention to the joke, however, gazing around in awe, and he kept an eye on her as she wandered down the street a short distance ahead. The busy noises of Humanity washed around the small group, voices, sights and smells becoming a vague roar, a rush of color.

Where Magrad looked as though it had been built into the side of a hill, Vellweb appeared o have been carved by godly hands from a cliffside, shaped out of brownish rock as if sculpted from a single slab. Enormous walls several feet thick ringed the city, its stone buildings, built close and sturdy, resting down below inside a deep valley.

Rising above the dwellings below was a huge stone mass, and behind that, vaulting even higher toward the sky, were seven towers. Three of these were completed, the other four broken off at the top like snapped bones lifted high, piercing through the thin layer of snow that covered everything.

Damia stopped her rambling, forced to lean backward to see to the top. "Seven towers," she said thoughtfully, whirling around to look at the others, who were moving more slowly, taking it all in. "For the seven elements?"

"That's right," Shirley answered almost absently, her gaze downcast. She smiled gently, wrapping her arms around herself as she felt a presence surrounding her mind, the soft warmth she'd come to know as the consciousness of her vassal dragon, Eremi, welcoming her home. _I will see you soon. _Briefly closing her eyes, she shook her head to wake herself, moving to catch up.

Kanzas, despite himself, was completely amazed by Vellweb. More specifically, he was amazed at the fact that the Winglies allowed it to even _exist_. Though he was looking, not one platinum-shaded head, not one flashy hair color but Damia's showed itself amongst the crowds trudging their way through slushy streets. First a slave and then a bandit, he had never seen so many free Humans together in one place before.

Feeling a finger prodding him in the back, he whirled around to see Rose there regarding him coolly. Despite their rocky start, Kanzas had grown to appreciate - if not respect - the woman's skill with a sword, after seeing her obliterate a white ape that had attacked. So, merely giving her a glare in return, he snapped, "What?"

"There're knife holes in that cloak of yours," she remarked offhandedly, wiggling at him the finger she'd poked through.

He knew that wasn't why she'd stopped him. "Oh, really? The former owner didn't notice."

"I bet not," she answered in an emotionless tone. "Don't let Shirley see."

Kanzas shrugged, scanning the crowd to avoid meeting her face. Why was it everyone seemed to think they _knew_ what was going on between him and her? "She's aware of what I am." He said it defiantly, proudly.

"Is she really? That's debatable." Rose folded her arms, her voice softening. "Anyhow, you don't look very impressed with our capital," she went on, changing the subject abruptly.

"This place? It's like… you're daring the Winglies. I'd be afraid to live here," Kanzas said, running his fingers through his mess of russet hair. "You're standing on a mountaintop in a thunderstorm." He raised his arm skyward, craning his head to see the towers above. "Just like this."

Nodding, Rose's lips curved gently into a smile. "That's exactly it. But you, afraid?"

The wiry man snorted in amusement, glancing back over his shoulder at her. "I'm not scared of thunder."

"Then I'm satisfied."

She said it definitively, as if he'd just passed some kind of test, and he raised an eyebrow. Shirley - walking so far ahead of them now - and her magic stone were leading him somewhere. He didn't like the thought of where it was taking him, and, if he truly was free now… then he certainly didn't have to go.

"Hello!" Shirley's voice called, the sound almost swept away by the noise of the market crowds around them. "Are you coming or not?"

With no other words to each other, they moved to catch up with the other three, but before they could start off again Rose said, "Actually, if you don't mind, Shirley, I was going to go take care of something. Lord Diaz doesn't need to see me."

"Zieg should be in his room, Rose," Belzac told her, flashing an innocent smile. "He's here, as far as I know." He, like Shirley, seemed greatly relaxed in these surroundings, almost off-guard, as if knowing nothing could threaten them here.

She tossed her head, pretending to be insulted. "That wasn't necessarily-"

"It was!" Shirley finished brightly, clasping her hands in front of her. "Go on, Rose, don't let us stop you."

Smirking at them, the dark-haired swordswoman gave the four a light wave with her gloved hand. "See you later," she called, turning and striding back toward the square.

When she'd gone out of sight, Shirley looked at her companions, nodding to Belzac before facing the others. "I'm taking you both to see Lord Diaz now. His throne and administration lies beneath the seven towers."

"You'd think it should be at the top of one," Kanzas said belligerently, noticing the way she kept glancing toward him, trying to judge his reaction. _She wants me to like it; she wants me to be so impressed I'd lay down my life for this city. Just like all the other freed slaves, no doubt._

"He is the foundation," Belzac answered vaguely, squeezing Damia's hand as she slipped it into his.

The other man rolled his eyes at that, but still waited patiently for them to precede him toward a walkway leading to a stone ramp. There were a great many flights of stairs leading toward the upper wall, and sets of guards at each long landing. They stood aside, bowing to Shirley as they passed - a fact that was most interesting to the former bandit. Apparently, this power she held made her well-respected indeed.

The young half-mermaid clung closer to Belzac as they ascended, glancing warily down at the rooftops growing increasingly distant beneath them. "It's too high," she murmured, her knuckles white as she held onto the hem of his tunic.

"Just don't look down," he advised her as the inner wall seemed to suddenly fall away, leaving the steps hanging in midair, supported by pillars underneath but with no rail along the sides. "We're almost to the upper city now…"

The odd flight of stairs ended at the top of a circular wall almost ten feet thick surrounding the seven incomplete towers. Shirley led them a short distance down this strange walkway, stopping in front of a large, arched double door.

The two guards in front of this one bowed to her, each taking hold of the rings and pulling the door open before them. "Welcome home, my lady and esteemed companions," one said; she smiled, stepping inside, as Belzac nodded to them as well. The doors closed behind them, making a deep, final thud.

Underneath the towers and protected from the falling snow, there was a long path leading over the city below, seemingly unsupported. Damia closed her eyes, trembling a little, but then opened them and continued to walk forward quickly as the other three moved ahead in silence. There didn't seem to be anything to say, leaving the whistle of wind blowing over them to howl in place of their voices.

The building on the other side of the bridge opened to reveal more doorways and stairs leading downward. The entire place was larger than it had looked from the outside and had a hushed feeling to it. Although several men, arms full of papers and books, were moving about, up and down and into several other rooms, they were all speaking quietly.

"Please wait here," Shirley said, also keeping her voice down, "while I go tell Lord Diaz we're back." Gesturing at some benches set nearby, she turned to go; she saw Kanzas open his mouth to retort, but moved away quickly so she wouldn't have to argue with him. Heading downstairs, she followed the twisting path and stopped at the first door there, knocking lightly before entering.

The man inside looked up from his chair by the small window where he was poring over some papers and smiled upon seeing the woman. He had curly brown hair, and a fairly young face underneath a full beard, but his shoulders seemed hunched forward with worries despite his contented appearance. "Shirley, my dear," he said, standing and tossing the reports onto a table before clasping her hands tightly. "I'm glad to see you've returned safely from Mekadris."

"We have, Lord Diaz," she replied happily as he released her; she took a seat in a chair set across from the first, watching as he sat back down again, arranging his embroidered white robe more comfortably.

"I also see that you came straight here," he went on, glancing at the dark handprints on her pale sleeves and the slush that had turned the hem of her cloak ragged. "It's important news?"

Shirley nodded, taking a breath to try to sort her thoughts. There was a lot to tell her benefactor, but she began with, "You must have heard already from others, my lord, but as we were crossing Kashua Pass, we saw Flanvel Tower. It was," she choked back the quaver in her voice, "setting fire to villages, and Wingly soldiers below were slaying the people. We were too late to save the outpost there…"

Diaz nodded slowly, leaning forward, elbows braced on the arms of his chair. "Yes, I have had reports of this, of villages destroyed all along the border. There have been rumors," he continued, "of our hidden power, rumors that have reached the Winglies' ears. They are growing nervous and are trying to scare us back." He shook his head, his intelligent, piercing dark eyes meeting hers. "We must begin opposing them _soon_, Shirley."

"It is as you say, my lord," she returned formally, bowing her head before looking back up again. "And on that subject, I do have good news. I believe one of the slaves I purchased in Mekadris could be the bearer of a Dragoon Spirit."

Diaz smiled faintly, though the deep line between his brows did not ease. "That is good news. You have brought him here with you?"

It was almost a ritual for the newly-freed slaves that came to Vellweb with them to meet the lord of the city, but she humored the idle question, nodding. "Yes, sir. But…" Shirley fidgeted slightly. "I should warn you that he… might not be, um, polite, when you meet him." Her face flushed in embarrassment, and she went on, "The Winglies had sold him as a criminal, and he's not like the other freed slaves you've met. But I'm - I'm so _sure_ that the Dragoon Spirit called me to him…"

"I trust your feelings, my dear. They have not led us wrongly yet, and have given us Zieg and Syuveil, have they not?" He stood again, and the red-haired woman did as well. "Is Belzac with you too? Please, do call everyone."

"I'll bring them to the audience chamber, my lord," she said with a bow before letting herself out of the room, almost running back up the stairs to the entrance hall of the building. Belzac and Damia were seated on one of the benches, Kanzas leaning on the wall nearby, and they all looked over at her as she approached.

Pushing the gray hood off Belzac's head and almost absently smoothing down his ruffled hair, Shirley said, "Lord Diaz will see you now. Please, come downstairs."

"It's about time," Kanzas complained, crossing his arms and falling into step next to the woman as the other two preceded them down the stairs.

_Just who does he think he is?_ "If you're rude to Lord Diaz," Belzac announced shortly, not bothering to look back at him, "I'll-"

"You'll what?" he snapped back immediately, his raspy voice ringing through the quiet spiraling halls; the clerks who passed all stopped and turned to look and, as if someone had broken a plate in a crowded room, it grew almost unnaturally quiet.

Shirley frowned, and as they stopped in front of the second door, this time to the audience chamber, she hissed, "Please!"

Sighing, Belzac moved to open the door, and, allowing her face to relax, Shirley gently ushered Damia inside, the girl hesitant and nervous to meet such an important person. Kanzas stalked in as well, stopping to take in the large room and the throne set at the end of it, and most of all the Human sitting upon it, a golden crown now adorning his head.

"My lord Diaz," Shirley said in a ceremonial tone; she stopped in front of the throne and bowed low, Belzac taking his place next to her. "Your Dragoon has returned."

"Your servant has returned," Belzac echoed, doing the same. "Your will has been done."

_Dragoon,_ Kanzas thought, his eyes narrowing in a spark of realization. _What an odd word… _

Diaz nodded deeply, gravity in his eyes for the small rite. "With the freedom of all shall your loyalty be rewarded," he answered, the formality falling away as the two straightened up again. His gaze turned upon Damia, and he smiled. "Step forward, child, and welcome to Vellweb. Please, speak your name."

Shyly, the half-mermaid stepped forward and, at Shirley's silent urging, took a place within a semicircular pattern carved into the stone in front of the throne. "My name is Damia," she said softly, giving him a jerky bow.

"Greetings, Damia." Amusement crept into his tone. "I should not be surprised; Belzac always manages to free a child when he is sent to the slave city."

Belzac shrugged awkwardly at that before gently drawing the girl back from the pattern she stood on. "They have the most to lose, my lord," he explained.

"Indeed," Diaz agreed. "And who is this last guest of ours?"

Kanzas felt the touch of Shirley's hand at the small of his back, prodding him forward. For a moment, he pondered not moving, but finally he stepped ahead and onto the semicircle. Starting to cross his arms again, he stopped in mid-motion and let them drop, hanging awkwardly at his sides.

Shirley waited nervously to see what he would do, and was surprised as he finally just said, "My name is Kanzas. I have a question for you." He made no move to bow, or even lower his head, staring the lord directly in the eyes, but despite this, she had to feel relieved that he hadn't been any more disrespectful.

Diaz regarded him thoughtfully. "You are very direct, Kanzas. Please, ask your question."

"I was promised that you could tell me about the magic stone Shirley wears. I've seen it heal, and I've seen it become a - a winged armor. I want to know what it is."

"Ah," the man responded in understanding. "This is the power of the Dragoon Spirit. It is the soul of the White-Silver Dragon, and its strength has been given to Shirley for her to command."

He looked over at the woman automatically, Damia's wide eyes also staring suddenly. "A dragon? Why her? How?"

Diaz too glanced toward her; flushing at the unexpected attention, Shirley stared at the floor. "Among Humans are seven incarnations of dragons," he replied, "corresponding with one true dragon of each element. Each one may rule a spirit. With the power given us by the dragons, the Dragoons shall lead Humans to true freedom. This is the vision that has been given to me, and the future we shall claim. Does this answer your questions?"

"Yes," Kanzas said shortly. He stood there a moment longer, scrutinizing the lord on the throne, before suddenly turning on his heel and striding toward the door.

Shirley felt her jaw dropping, and with a gasp, she held out her hand. "Wait! Where are you-"

Ignoring her, he stopped anyway and snarled to Diaz, "You were going to offer me a place in your army, weren't you? With these - these Dragoons or whatever, you're going to rise up against the Winglies. Well, I don't want anything to do with it. It was your money that bought me, so I'll just buy myself back."

"Kanzas, no!" the young woman hissed, staring at him. _Divine Tree, isn't he even going to listen?_

Reacting quickly, Diaz didn't even change expression, merely nodding at the angry man. "We do not simply free slaves in name," he told him. "You are right, I did plan to invite you to fight for me, but you are free to leave if that is what you wish."

"Good. It is." He turned again, dark cloak flapping as he flung open the door and slammed it closed again, the echoes within the chamber slowly dying away.

Belzac tried not to smile, knowing how inappropriate it was. _I wish we hadn't wasted our time, or the money,_ he thought, fighting away the smugness that rose within. Shirley was disappointed; he shouldn't feel so pleased about it…

Suddenly, Shirley spun to run after Kanzas, hoping to catch up before he got too far. "Forgive me, Lord Diaz," she gasped out over her shoulder as she too slipped out the door, missing the way Belzac's expression melted into a look of anguish. She hadn't come this far just to have _this_ happen.

She found him just outside the building, standing there with his back turned, and she stopped to catch her breath, her legs aching from taking all those stairs so fast. "Kanzas, listen to me… I didn't know you felt that way," she began.

"I will not die for a hopeless dream," he said evenly, looking out across the walkway, the snow-covered capital spread out in the valley far below. "I won't die for this heap of stone you call a city, or for your lord on his throne." When he spun around to face her, his eyes looked like glowing coals. "You, however, _will_ die, Shirley - you'll die in vain, fighting against an enemy you can't possibly hope to defeat!"

Stung, she hugged her arms a little as if for warmth, the bite of the wind seeming to go right through her. "I didn't think you were the type to give up so easily," she murmured.

Kanzas was lost as to how to answer that, memories of the Magic City Aglis flashing through his mind. The dull remembered pain of years of spells crashing through his body made his hands shake slightly, and he tucked them beneath the drape of his cloak until it stopped. "There's too many," he finally returned. "Even with dragons, you think you can stand against their magic? It's stupid!"

Shirley shook her head slowly, closing her eyes. "You don't… really realize the power of the Dragoon Spirit," she told him, risking reaching out to grab hold of the edge of his cloak. "And - oh, Soa, Kanzas - I think you're one too! You're the Thunder Dragon! You can't leave, not now!"

"Me?" he breathed, stunned. "How in the world do you think that?"

"My own spirit leads me," Shirley said breathlessly, encouraged by the response. "It led me to you on the auction block, just as it led me to the other Dragoons here now. Please, you must-"

The russet-haired man snorted, brushing her hand away. "I must? I must? Shirley, your lord said I was free; am I free to take this spirit for my own, then, if it really is mine? Or am I bound to serve him if I want to use it? Will you pull out the papers and say you really are my owner and I have to do it?"

Shirley tensed involuntarily, remembering that she really did carry his ownership papers, tucked into the bottom of the pack on her back. "Even if I tried," she replied warily, "I'm not your owner anyway, nor is Lord Diaz. Winglies have a law against Humans buying slaves in their own names."

"Then who?"

"Charle Frahma 'owns' you, the same as me. We have her backing in this, Kanzas."

"Frahma's own sister would betray him?" he asked skeptically, intrigued despite himself.

Nodding slowly, she answered, "She does not approve of what he's done, and she has the support of the other Winglies who think the same way. They will aid us as they can… the dragons have blessed us with their support…" Her voice grew warm, almost laughing. "How can we not win?"

Kanzas fell silent, lost in thought. "Let me see that spirit thing," he demanded finally, holding out his hand.

Hesitating, Shirley reached back for her necklace's clasp, letting the small orb fall and placing it in the cup of his palm. He didn't look at it, however, simply holding it tightly, his eyes closing briefly. She watched him, wondering, until suddenly he held his arm out again, dropping the chain and pendant back into her hands.

"I'm not saying I'll join your war," he told her unexpectedly. "But if one of those belongs to me, then I want it. Okay? I'll see what I want to use it for after that. You owe me, remember? This makes it twice over."

She felt a bit uneasy at that, for the secret of gaining the spirits had been given to Diaz especially for use against the Winglies, who also abused and enslaved dragons along with the humanoid races. The thought of the kind of payment he might claim in return made her face burn as well, but she pushed that aside. "It's not simple," she confessed. "A dragon does not give its life easily, even if it has agreed to sacrifice itself."

"They must die for the orb to be given?" Kanzas queried.

Shirley nodded sadly, gazing outward at the cityscape below. "Some candidates have died as well. At the end, the dragon did not accept them as being a true incarnation." Standing there, she suddenly felt an arm around her shoulders, her gaze jerking upward toward the man next to her.

"That won't happen to me." He gazed back at her, giving her a crooked smile, and she decided to let him leave his arm where it was. "You said there are others besides you who are already Dragoons?"

"Two. Want to go meet them?" Ducking out from under his arm, Shirley reached up and grabbed hold of his hand as she moved, slipping her fingers between his.

He held it tightly, giving her an oddly knowing grin, and, blushing, she turned, tugging him gently toward the walkway before them. He went along with her easily, as if his concerns had just fallen away. "Yeah," Kanzas said softly. "Let's go do that."

* * *

Belzac was napping lightly in his room later that evening when he heard the door open and close, and peered through one eye at the small figure that was slipping inside quietly. _Oh, so she finally deigns to come back,_ he thought sourly, sitting up and stretching. "Shirley." 

Her hair almost aflame in the torchlight, Shirley came over to him. "Here you are," she began brightly. "I hope I didn't wake you. I've been looking for you…"

"I wasn't sleeping," he responded curtly, the tone of his voice surprising her. "Where else did you think I'd be? Did you expect us to wait for you to come back? Lord Diaz has better things to do, you know."

Her eyes flying wide, she interjected, "Oh, Belzac! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to just run off and leave you there, but I… I couldn't just let Kanzas walk away like that."

Seeing her friend's irritated face and lack of response, she looked away, hopping up to sit next to him on the edge of his huge bed, and pretended to scrutinize his small room. The beds in inns were always uncomfortable for him, being much too short, and though this one fit the half-Giganto's size, it filled nearly half of the small room he lived in. It was attached to the school, and so there were also scattered toys left about, contrasting oddly with the stand holding the heavy bronzed chest armor he rarely wore.

Finally, Belzac cleared his throat, commenting dryly, "Well, I hope you two had fun."

"Fun?" she responded sharply. "Thanks anyway, but I spent part of that time trying to persuade him to at least try to claim his Dragoon Spirit - let's not even mention fighting for Lord Diaz yet, because he won't. It wasn't easy! Then I took him to meet the other two before coming here. I don't know what you're implying…"

Though he usually tried to defuse arguments, right now Belzac was ready to take this one on. "I'm just thinking, Shirley," he told the woman next to him, still not looking at her, "that there's something odd about the way you act around that man. You were never like this around any of the others we freed and brought here."

"And you certainly watched out for Damia especially, yourself. It was a hard trip, worse than usual," she defended. "It made us closer to them than we were with any of the others, Zieg and Syuveil aside."

_Yes, but Damia went to the orphanage still waiting for you to come see her off, _Belzac thought at her, fiddling with the stack of books left lying on his end table. "I always watch out for the children, you know that. You didn't go to such great lengths for Zieg and Syuveil's spirits, either."

"Well, I didn't have to! They wanted to join Lord Diaz against the Winglies! They were - polite!" she retorted inadequately. "It's a completely different situation."

"Help me to understand this, Shirley," Belzac said slowly, lifting the worn cover of a storybook with his index finger and letting it drop again. "You fall for a man because he tries to kill you - twice, as I remember - before you've even exchanged names?"

"Fall… for?" she repeated, brown eyes flying wide as she tried to switch mental gears. Fighting for the words, she blurted out, "Oh, Belzac, it's not like that at all!" She twined her fingers together, rubbing at her knuckles. "The Dragoon Spirit calls me to him, like when we met the others. I want him to help us fight, that's all, and if he's a Dragoon too then we all need to get along, don't we?"

"Well, it's obvious that _he_ doesn't think that way." Belzac sighed, and the argument suddenly cooled; neither of the two had the ability to stay angry at each other for very long.

Rising to her feet, she wandered aimlessly around the small, cluttered room, poking at the familiar things. Picking up a child's doll and cradling it absently in one arm, the young woman murmured, "And I suppose you asked him? Really, if you have a fault, it's that you get too jealous. You always have."

"_If_ I have a fault?" he asked lightly, making a joke out of it and as usual masking what he was really feeling. _I don't have to ask. He looks at you like he's devouring you with his eyes - and no, I'm _not_ just being overprotective again,_ he went on silently, glowering at the wall when she didn't answer. One mistake he'd made that would follow him around forever, it seemed…

He and Shirley had grown up on neighboring farms, the best of friends, and as they'd grown older, he'd found himself falling in love with her. Shirley, however, had been younger and had never seemed to love him back, at least romantically.

She'd lost her innocence to the neighbor boy who was courting her, and Belzac, in a hurt, jealous rage, had gone after him and beaten him severely, events which ended up getting the boy sold to another owner across the continent. There had always been a part of her that never seemed to forget that, though she had long since forgiven it.

Shirley finally put the doll down, turning to face him, and sat on the bed again next to him. "I can take care of myself, you know," she told him quietly, sliding her arm through his and leaning her head on his massive shoulder.

"You can," he agreed, suddenly shifting to enfold her tightly in his arms. "That doesn't mean I can't still take care of you too."

She caught her breath a bit, since Belzac usually hugged her rather gingerly, as if afraid he'd hurt her without trying. However, she soon just held him closer, her head on his chest, his strong heartbeat ringing in her ear. "You're so dependable," Shirley said dreamily, as if just noticing the fact. "I feel like nothing in the world can hurt me when you're around."

"Thank you," he answered, though his mind grumbled, _But if I was dangerous and unpredictable, maybe you'd smile when I showed up… like the sun was coming up in your face… like you did in Magrad for him. _

Her next words startled him with how close they were in responding to his thoughts. "I've not been treating you well, dear one, have I?" With a forefinger, she traced the seam of his vest, the fabric rough to the touch.

"I know you love me," he answered fondly. "I remember it all the time."

"I never forget it either - even if I might seem to."

He rubbed her back gently with his fingertips. "I know that too."

Shirley fought back the urge to cry, not sure what she was feeling. They sat in silence for a while, holding onto each other, until she finally felt her voice returning to normal.

"I thought that this trip wouldn't be any different from the others, and now suddenly everything's changing. I wonder what it'll be like when all seven Dragoons have been found?" He didn't answer that, thinking about it himself, and she sighed deeply, telling him, "Well, it's getting late… I should go wash up and get ready for bed. I haven't had a chance to change clothes in forever."

"Yeah, all right." Lightly kissing the bright red of her hair, he let her go, watching as she stood up and crossed the room. "Have a good night, Shirley," he told her helplessly, everything he'd been trying to say flying from his mind.

She gave a little wave, swinging open the door. "You too, Belzac. Thank you for understanding. I'll see you tomorrow."

When the latch clicked closed again, the man waited for a minute before suddenly lurching from the bed and pounding his fists down hard on top of the nearest piece of furniture, which was the old dresser across from the bed. The cloudy mirror on the wall above it shook as the cabinet creaked from the force of the blow, slipping from its nail and sliding down to the floor, shattering there.

Hissing at himself in anger, he sank to his knees, gently reaching his fingers underneath the rickety piece of furniture to draw the shards out. "Great, go and lose your temper and that's what you get," he berated in an undertone.

Holding one large piece of glass in his hand, he looked down at the wavering reflection it still showed. His own eyes stared back at him, as cloudy as the mirror, pale and strange against his tanned skin. "Damn you, Dad," Belzac said aloud, picking out the features of the Giganto in his own face; the thin, almost nonexistent eyebrows, the square jaw and high forehead. There were few hints that he had other blood besides the light color of his hair. "Why couldn't you have been Human too?"

Ashamed for saying it, he bit his lip, scraping up the broken bits of the mirror into a heap. He knew Shirley didn't care about his heritage, but the thought remained all the same. _I can't just sit here feeling sorry, _he told himself, wrapping the shards into a rag to throw out. He knew what he had to do - he just didn't want to do it.

Getting to his feet decisively, Belzac grabbed his cloak and left his room, slowly taking the stairs around and upward, the sunset light illuminating Vellweb's brownish stone with bright, shifting colors. He was moving toward the towers where Shirley, Zieg, and Syuveil had their rooms, though for once the woman's place was not where he was heading. He was instantly recognizable to the guards, and moved freely through the upper city, lost in his unsettling thoughts.

Climbing the long flight of stairs beneath one unfinished tower, he turned to the right and went upward again toward a large wooden door. Taking a breath, Belzac squared his shoulders and knocked hard, the sound echoing loudly within the room on the other side.

It was several moments before the door swung open, the figure of a pale young man coming into view, gazing up from behind a pair of glasses. He had a pleasant face and a mop of brown hair, which he brushed absently out of his eyes as he looked up. "Belzac!" he exclaimed. "This is a surprise. Please, come in!"

"I'm sorry to bother you, Syuveil," he apologized as he followed the Jade Dragoon inside, glad of a door he didn't have to duck through for once.

"Oh, it's no problem," he said, smiling as he moved a stack of papers away from a chair, pulling it out for his friend and taking a seat at his desk. "Please don't mind the mess in here. I haven't had time to clean up for all the visitors lately."

Belzac, however, did not take the proffered chair, glancing around the inside of the tower room. The entirety of the large space was taken up by the scholar's studies; books, papers and experiments, both abandoned and in progress, littered much of the room. "Oh, it's fine, Syuveil. Thank you, but I really just came here to ask you a favor." Cracking his knuckles absently, he finally said, "I've decided to challenge the Golden Dragon, and I need a support - I'd like to ask you to go with me, if you can spare the time."

"I'd be glad to accompany you, Belzac," he said, blinking behind his spectacles, "but, truthfully, I'd always assumed Shirley would be supporting you against your dragon."

"She, well… has another," he mumbled, hating the way that sounded. "Another to guide, that is. Kanzas needs watching…" He shook his head, a scowl creeping onto his face as he dismissed the subject. "It's time for me to face up to whatever my fate is. I need to know now if I'm a Dragoon. And I - need to do it without Shirley's help."

Syuveil nodded, leaning forward over his desk, his fingers steepled. He'd met the new candidate earlier that day, and Kanzas had seemed very interested in his studies of life and death… "I understand. The Golden Dragon's cave is in the desert, the Death Frontier. It's very close to Vellweb, but it's also near enough to Mayfil that I think we should ride my vassal dragon. If we encounter any opposition, he will give us an advantage."

The half-Giganto's look was full of wary interest; the three dragons commanded by the Dragoons had always intrigued him, but at the same time they seemed so unpredictable, so… dangerous. What in the world was he thinking, going off to challenge one of these creatures? "It sounds good, Syuveil."

"When would you like to leave?" the robed man asked him, twisting in his seat to look out the window on the far wall. The grayness of dusk showed through the glass, the sunset barely visible past snow that was just starting to fall. "With Tsavor coming along, it would be advisable to depart under cover of darkness."

Belzac gave a sharp nod. "Yes, let's leave right away. I'll just go get my things. Thanks." He barely heard Syuveil's 'welcome', his hands curling into fists as he turned away. _I'm going to do this. I'm going to be accepted by the dragon and win its spirit. I'm going to win. I have no other choice._

He was not going to become a Dragoon merely to save Humans from the Winglies, but rather to win back the woman he loved. How selfish it was - but he knew it was true. The only thing he could do now was fight.


	4. Chapter Four

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter Four

There was nothing better, Shirley decided, than being able to wake up slowly in the morning. The light was streaming in softly through the windows of her tower, muted a bit by the thin, pale curtains covering them. There was a fire in the room downstairs, its heat rising to warm her bedroom, and she snuggled deeper under her layers of blankets, giving a happy sigh. No, maybe there was nothing better than just being home again…

However, her peace was abruptly interrupted by a shriek from outside, startling her into sitting up quite quickly. In towns it was impossible not to hear people, but here she was in a tower hundreds of feet above the lower city, and she had not expected to hear a voice - especially not this particular voice.

"Please, I just want to see her! I'm not gonna do anything bad! I _told_ you that I-"

"Yeah, yeah. I don't know how you got up here, kid, but if you don't come away now, you'll be going back down the fast way!"

Wriggling out from under her covers, the young woman shivered as her bare feet hit the cold stones and grabbed a rose-colored woolen blanket to wrap around her shoulders as she ran toward the huge door, jumping hurriedly down to fling it open. "What's going on?" Shirley called, her breath billowing around her as she leaned outside.

On the landing, one of the upper city guards was determinedly marching a teal-haired girl toward the stairs; huge furrows in the newly-fallen snow showed how she had been dragging her feet the whole way, refusing to cooperate. "Lady Shirley!" the man said, looking relieved. "No need to worry-"

"It's fine," she interjected. "I know her. Please, leave her be."

Shrugging almost invisibly, the man gave a bow, letting go of Damia's wrist. "As you wish, my lady."

Pulling her arm back violently, she ran to Shirley, who quickly ushered her inside and closed the door against the cold. "He wouldn't have thrown me over the side, would he?" she asked doubtfully.

"No," Shirley laughed, watching as Damia looked around the room. The inside of the tower was fairly large and split into two levels, a few stairs leading upward to the dais-like half where the bed rested. Though it was difficult, thanks to the stone of the walls, the room had been made as light and airy as possible. There were white blankets and window-coverings, and the runner covering the stairs was in a floral pattern.

The half-mermaid took a deep breath, inhaling the faint smell of flowers emanating from the dried bunches that hung on a rack on the wall. "Wow," she whispered, just loud enough to be heard. "Pretty…"

"Damia," the healer began, smiling a bit proudly at her approval, "I'm surprised. How did you get up here?"

She raised her eyebrows, shaking her head helplessly before bending to brush snow from the folds of her pale blue wrap. She had a new scarf, Shirley saw, white with green trim, wrapped loosely around her neck. "I just ran… I was afraid of falling off those stairs. You live up so high! The guards at the bottom let me through, but the one up here was dumb and wouldn't listen."

"They let you in?" Shirley sat down on a long recliner couch, crossing her ankles, and looked puzzled. "Generally, they don't just let everyone through to the upper city."

"Well," the girl said, patting at the mended tear in her shirt before remembering and reaching in through the collar, "I have a message for you." She pulled out a folded scrap of parchment, holding it forth. As Shirley took it slowly, she explained, "It's from Belzac. He told me to bring it to you last night."

Curious, she unfolded the note, reading the short message quickly, and then her eyes widened, her expression falling. "Oh, no, he didn't!" she breathed, rereading it, but the words remained the same.

Leaning over the backrest of the couch, Damia craned her head to see. "What's wrong? What's it say?"

_Oh, Belzac, that was a rash thing to do. _"He went with Syuveil last night to challenge the Golden Dragon," she replied distractedly, unconsciously holding the note to her chest.

"Syu-who? A dragon? When's he coming back?" Damia pressed, leaning even further over the couch arm, her feet lifting from the ground and her hair hanging to the white leather of the seat. "Oh, it's about the orbs! The dragon things!" she remembered suddenly. "Belzac gets one too?"

She nodded hard, as if reassuring herself. He would be fine, and Syuveil was with him to support him, but still, she'd always thought she would be at his side during the fight… "He will," she answered, nodding once more. "We'll see him in just a couple of days, maybe even tomorrow."

Grunting softly as her feet touched the floor again, Damia sighed, unwinding her scarf from around her neck and wrapping it idly around and between her hands. "So, you aren't mad or something? Because, well, I had to go to the school and you didn't even say goodbye to me."

"Oh!" Her hand flying to her cheek, Shirley twisted to face the girl, pangs of guilt rising inside. "Damia, I'm so sorry! I'm not mad at you, I just got distracted…"

Smiling wryly, she scuffed her worn boot along the mortar of one of the stones, finally looking up again, a bit of sadness in her eyes. "It's okay… I mean, you've got those dragon stones to fight the Winglies, and there's probably even more slaves you want to free, and those kids will need you all too, and all that's a lot more important."

"Damia-" _No, it isn't,_ she wanted to say, but her words were cut off by a loud knock on the door. Puzzled, she put down the note and stood up again, wrapping the blanket more tightly with one hand as she cracked it open, peering around.

A soldier wearing Diaz's colors stood outside, bowing to the woman when he saw her. "Lady Shirley," he said stiffly, "Lord Diaz would like to see you right away."

_A summons? I wasn't expecting this. I wonder what came up? I hope it's not about Belzac… but he couldn't have heard yet if something happened…_ Her heart twisting in worry, she managed a nod to the man. "All right, thank you." Standing back to close the door, she looked over to Damia, who shrugged, as if proving her point. "I'm sorry," Shirley began, the words sounding weak already.

Still giving that smile, she dropped the ends of her scarf and hopped up onto the curved back of the reclining couch, balancing lightly, slender arms outstretched. "I don't mind, Shirley." Her next words, however, made the redhead pause in crossing the room. "It's kind of like still having a master, isn't it?"

Watching her innocent expression thoughtfully, she finally conceded, "It is, perhaps. But one I _want_ to serve."

"That's important," the twelve-year-old announced with similar thoughtfulness.

"Will you walk with me, at least down to the entrance?" Shirley asked her after climbing the low stairs, leaning on the railing momentarily.

Damia nodded, and Shirley bent to open a trunk set in the corner, rifling through it for some warm clothes. "Besides," the girl commented, "I'll probably get in trouble for going off anyway, so I shouldn't stay out too long."

"Not if Belzac asked you to go," she said, pulling out a rather tight-fitting white tunic and pants and wrinkling her nose at it. Tossing it on the bed anyway, she found a long, loose saffron jacket to go over it and began getting dressed. "How do you like the school so far?"

Rolling lightly down onto the couch seat, Damia went on, "I guess it's okay. We had gravy with biscuits at breakfast, as much as we wanted!" Her tone changed suddenly, growing darker. "The kids are kind of snotty, though. I don't think they like me much."

"Just give it a little time. They'll like you when they get to know you," Shirley assured, tugging on a pair of fur-lined boots. Winter in Vellweb lasted for nearly half the year, and its inhabitants quickly got used to dressing warmly. "Well, let's go."

Damia joining her, Shirley left the room, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the glare as she peered around the ring of unfinished towers. There were two figures also coming out of the second tower to her right, Zieg's, and waved to them although she wasn't sure they could see it.

Moving quickly but carefully down the icy flights of stairs, the healer reached the first landing and suddenly let out a gasp as a hand closed around her upper arm, pulling her back. Twisting to see, she found Kanzas standing in the shadows of the arched doorway of her tower's lower floor, and in surprise blurted, "What are you doing here?"

"What a nice welcome." He let her go, a scowl on his face. "He _summoned_ me, Shirley!" the man hissed, immediately changing the subject. "What makes him think he can do that? I told you before, I'm not going to be his soldier!"

She sighed, throwing up her hands. _It's still too early in the day for this._ "You're a candidate, remember? Lord Diaz just wants to talk to you, and he's summoned me and the others too, so shall we just go see what he wants?"

"I never agreed," Kanzas went on stubbornly, "to be at his beck and call."

"Then how are you ever going to find out anything?" Shirley rejoined, raising her finger to point.

The russet-haired man tossed back his head. "What do I need Diaz to tell me anything for?"

Taking a breath to retort, she heard the soft sound of Damia clearing her throat, and then a sudden new voice. "Hello, there, Shirley! And Kanzas, was it? I hope we aren't interrupting?"

Shirley turned to see Zieg and Rose approaching, side-by-side, and let go of her irritation to smile in greeting at them. "Hello," she answered cheerfully. "No, you aren't interrupting. It's just an old argument being rehashed." She flashed an arch look at Kanzas, who didn't seem to see it; he had gone quiet, watching the newcomers closely. "Oh, this is Damia," she introduced as well.

The blonde man looked at her, blinking a little. "Hi," he said casually. "How do you like Vellweb?"

As the others conversed, Kanzas kept his eyes on Zieg. Though he was still angry about being summoned, there was something about the Fire Dragoon, a kind of oblivious charisma that made him feel childish for complaining. When they'd met last night, Shirley had told him that Zieg had never been a slave, and there was something of this freedom in his attitude. Without consciously being aware of it, Kanzas knew that looking bad next to Zieg was worse than looking bad next to someone else.

"By the way, where's Belzac and Syuveil?" Zieg asked curiously, looking around the tower circle for any sign of them. "They'd probably have been called for, too."

"They…" Shirley answered reluctantly, "went to the Death Frontier last night. Damia brought me the message this morning."

As Zieg spoke with Shirley, Rose turned her thoughtful blue gaze toward Kanzas momentarily, receiving a dour look in return. "Really?" she murmured for him alone to hear. "I'm surprised."

"Oh, are you?" he snapped back, annoyed. She merely gave him a smirk, and he clenched his fists, doing his best to hold back his anger. He didn't like it, but he could see that getting into an argument with Rose with Zieg around wouldn't get him anywhere right now.

"Guys?" Damia asked suddenly, her voice just a whisper. "Who's that?"

Zieg gave her a confused look. "Who's who?"

"My, my," a low woman's voice said to answer his question, as slow and sickly-sweet as trickling syrup, "_this_ is a surprise. Enjoying the view, are we, my dears?" A Wingly woman alighted gently on the circular path in front of them, her thick fur-lined cloak and long white hair falling softly down again as her wings disappeared from sight. She wore a haughty expression, her hands on her hips.

"Fara," Shirley forced out civilly, drawing the edges of her jacket tighter around her. "Yes, it's a nice morning."

"If you enjoy this miserable ice and snow, perhaps," Fara sniffed. "No wonder you Humans have kept hold of this land so long."

_Odd, _Kanzas thought, noticing the way the faces of the Dragoons and Rose seemed to harden, tensing in resentment, _I thought there were some Winglies backing them. Why else would one be here? _

"What do you want, Fara?" Zieg spat, taking a step forward.

Dismissing him with a wave, the woman's eyes widened as she noticed Damia. "Oh, now this is interesting. You seem to have found a girl with Wingly blood…"

Shaking a little, Damia began to automatically bow toward the Wingly, but Zieg reached out, hooking two fingers into her collar and pulling her back up again. "You may not bow to her, Damia," he said sternly.

Nodding, she swallowed hard, her ruby eyes thinning to slits. "I am not part Wingly!" she suddenly hissed at Fara. "And you don't belong here!"

"Good," the red-clothed man said clearly. "You learn fast."

"Shirley, Zieg, and Rose," Fara drawled, giving Damia a dark look. "You seem to have acquired some new rabble, haven't you? I thought these quaint little towers were forbidden to the common herd?"

Kanzas felt Shirley's hand seize his wrist one moment later, her nails digging hard enough into the skin to leave marks. If he hadn't been so aggravated already, he might have laughed at her reaction. "Look," he snarled to Shirley a low tone meant to be overheard, taking a step forward, "I _don't like _Winglies. If you don't give me a reason why she's here, I'm going to get rid of her."

"Why I'm here?" Fara said disbelievingly, laying a hand on her chest. She tossed her long mane of hair, looking smug. "Ignorant Human, I'm the ambassador to this disgusting pile of stone. Attack me, and I will have all the reason in the world to have this place erased from the map."

"She's right," he heard Shirley whisper near his ear. "Please!"

Kanzas laughed shortly, relenting, though his clenched fists did not relax. "Ambassador?" he demanded. "What's that, another word for 'spy'?"

"In this case," Rose said, her tone like ice, "you are correct."

The Wingly spread her arms wide, her fine clothes shimmering in the morning sunlight. "Silly children," she sighed. "Enjoy your 'freedom' while we let you have it."

"Are you threatening us?" Shirley contested seriously.

"If you do not understand, I cannot be responsible for your ignorance," Fara laughed, her wings sparking into life again behind her. "Be careful now, Humans. Don't slip; it's such a long way to fall." She rose higher into the air, hair whipping around behind her as she flew toward the east.

Shirley sighed, finally letting go of Kanzas' wrist. He said nothing, watching Fara go with murder in his eyes. _Thank you for not attacking her right then,_ she thought at him, relieved. _I really wasn't sure you would stop…_

"Well," Rose said dryly when she had gone, "that was pleasant."

Zieg frowned thoughtfully, brushing back stray bits of hair. "She's not even pretending to tolerate us now, is she? Something's going on."

The swordswoman shrugged back at him. "I don't doubt it. She got angry, I think, when Damia snapped at her; she's usually better at hiding how much she hates us."

Following the trail of energy with his gaze, Kanzas shaded his eyes. "Hey," he said suddenly, intruding on the conversation, "I've been wondering, what's that thing being built in front of the towers?"

"Just an observation point," Shirley replied rather unnaturally brightly, shaking her head at him hard and reaching to pull at his arm and tug him along. "We should go see Lord Diaz now, right? Damia, do you know your way back?"

A bit disturbed by the encounter with the Wingly, she nodded somberly before raising her hand in a wave. "Don't forget about me," the teal-haired girl said quietly, her lips quirking into a smile.

"I'll come visit soon," Shirley promised, still trying to make Kanzas move but without much luck.

"Shirley," he began sternly, and she knew he was about to demand she tell him what the construction really was.

"Come on," she murmured, cutting him off, watching Damia take a deep breath before walking quickly toward the stairs, her gaze moving everywhere but down.

Finally relenting as Rose and Zieg began walking as well, he shook his arm out of her grip and joined them as they were let through the entrance and onto the path leading to the building below the towers. "You were lying," Kanzas told Shirley once the guards had pulled the doors closed again. "Why? What aren't you telling me again?"

"I just couldn't say it outside, that's all," she defended, following the other two across the long, windy bridge. "But it's safe here."

"What's so special about right here, then?" he asked, still rather irritated. "Just stop with the riddles, would you?"

"Charle Frahma's put a strong spell around this building, and the tower rooms too," Rose explained once they were inside, heading down toward the audience chamber. "You did hear that she backs us? Anyhow, it prevents other Winglies from using their magic to listen in, so we must keep our secrets here. Shirley was just being prudent, and as a candidate you should remember to do the same."

"Secrets? So what you're building in front of the towers is a secret?" Kanzas asked her, waving in its general direction but not pursuing the critical comment aloud. _Yeah, you think you're so great, do you? _"What is it, then? It sure as hell isn't some 'observation point'."

Shirley shook her head at him. "No. It's actually going to be a weapon when it's finished. To shoot Flanvel Tower from the sky."

"But we can't finish it," Zieg interjected, "until we have the seven Dragoons to back it up. Otherwise, the retaliation would destroy Vellweb."

The russet-haired man gave them a long look, stopping in the middle of the hall for a moment. "You people are crazy!" he hissed suddenly, smacking his palm against his forehead.

"It's true," Rose responded calmly. "Flanvel must fall before the other cities can be attacked, and this is how it will be done."

"Yeah, I'll believe _that_ if I see it," Kanzas muttered as Zieg flung open the doors to the chamber, letting them pass before him.

The blonde warrior gave the other man a confident grin before closing them behind him, taking up his place next to Shirley at the front of the room. Annoyed by the formality, Kanzas remained where he was, near the exit. "My lord Diaz," Zieg announced to the figure on the throne. "You have sent for us?"

The man nodded; unusually, he looked a lot less formal today, dressed in tunic and pants, only an ornate cloak betraying his status. "Dragoons, candidates," he greeted, "I will be brief. I have been meeting with warlords and other leaders of the free Humans left in the world, and we have all come to an agreement. The Winglies are attacking our borders, daring us to retaliate, and if we are not ready for the war that will come, it will consume us all. Thus, I must send you to claim the remaining Dragoon Spirits. I hope you are ready to take on this dangerous task."

Rose hesitated only a moment before bowing. "I am, Lord Diaz."

Feeling Diaz's eyes on him, Kanzas shrugged, staring back at him. "Sure," he answered softly before smirking. "It's just a dragon."

"Good," the bearded lord replied, half-smiling. "Shirley, Zieg, you two have done this before. You know what to do, and I am sure you will return safely."

"Lord Diaz," Shirley spoke up respectfully, "what about the Blue Sea spirit? Should Shynn come with one of us?"

Frowning thoughtfully, Zieg interjected, "Well, won't Syuveil and Belzac be returning soon? He can go with one of them to save time."

"Very well," Diaz said formally, inclining his head. "I wish you luck. The world is waiting for your return."

_The world?_ Kanzas thought. _What do I owe the world? Why does he think he can just order-_ Sighing to himself, he cut off that line of thinking. For now, he'd just go along with this - as long as it was beneficial to do so, anyway.

With bows from three of them, the small group filed out of the audience chamber before pausing in the hall outside. "This is it," Rose said quietly, starting to walk again, the heels of her boots clicking on the stone. "The beginning of everything."

"Everything's happening so fast now," Shirley agreed, following her. "I can't wait until we're all together at last." She smiled before her eyes narrowed rather uncharacteristically. "I think throwing Fara out will be the first thing, don't you?"

Zieg laughed loudly, putting his hand on Rose's shoulder, aware of his lover's uneasiness. Challenging a dragon was no easy task, after all. "I agree, Shirley. The throwing part especially. Too bad she can fly… well, we're going to get ready to leave; that right, Rose?"

Rose nodded, reaching up to place her hand over his. "Yes, Zieg, I'm ready to go."

"See you soon!" Zieg called to the other two, turning to wave as they went through the door.

"Take care!" Shirley answered back, returning the wave before looking over at Kanzas. "We should start off too, I suppose. You don't mind beginning another journey so soon, do you?" _I do, but there's nothing I can do about that…_

"Of course not," he said, sounding almost impatient. "It's not like I can just sit still here anyway."

She nodded. "Well, then get your equipment and supplies together, and meet me at the shore around noon. The road out the northeast gate will take you to the docks, but if you go just south from there you'll find an empty stretch of beach. I'll meet you there."

"Why there?" he asked quizzically. It sounded like one hell of an odd place to begin a trip south, unless they were going by boat or something.

Chuckling, she gave him a secretive, teasing look, reaching up to pat his cheek. He crossed his arms, snorting at the mocking gesture. "Don't fret. You'll see."

* * *

The sun was high in the sky, though it was hidden behind gray clouds, its light barely seen as Shirley made her way down the beach, humming happily and listening to the lapping sound of the water. Her breath misted around her face, and there were thin layers of ice covering the freezing waters near the shore. She held a coil of rope in her hands, wearing an armored vest embroidered in silver now under her jacket. 

Kanzas was already waiting for her, his dark clothes showing like a stain against the paleness of sand and sky. He gave the woman an odd look as she approached, flicking at the ponytail of hair pulled tightly behind her head, short enough to only stick out in tufts. "What's this supposed to be, a whisk?"

She reached up to cover her head protectively, giving him a scowl. "I just didn't want it in my face, thanks anyway. Got everything?"

Kanzas was wearing his own armored vest and a new set of banded armguards around his forearms. He shrugged sourly, tugging at the one diagonal strap of his pack. "Yeah, it's heavy enough. Are we taking a ship or something? If we are, it's late."

"No," she answered, giving him a knowing smirk. "We're going much faster than that. In fact, we'll be in the Southlands, where the dragon nests, in just a few hours."

"Then why, Shirley," Kanzas griped, crossing his arms, "are we on the damned freezing _beach_?"

She closed her eyes a moment, her smile growing into a grin as a gale of wind suddenly rushed around them, a sound like the snap of hard leather ringing out above their heads. "So no one will see the dragon, of course," she answered cheekily, opening them as Eremi touched down into the sand behind her, her small head leaning down over her Dragoon's shoulder as she inspected Kanzas critically, a large spike descending close to his neck.

The look of astonishment on his face made her laugh; he'd tensed up, standing very still as the white-silver dragon stared into his eyes with her own tiny cluster. "You have a dragon," he got out.

She reached up, rubbing the pearly scales of Eremi's jaw with her fingertips before the dragon lifted her head, regarding Kanzas with a flat, multi-eyed stare. "Of course; the vassal dragons are here to assist us against the Winglies. Dragonkind has its own grudges, too. This is the Silver Streak Dragon, Eremi. She'll carry us to the nest of the Violet Dragon."

"I suppose," the man said unenthusiastically, "you think this is very funny."

"Turnabout's fair play," she advised him, holding up the rope she carried. "Here, help me get this tied onto her."

He took one end reluctantly, watching with suspicion as the huge creature stood high on oddly rounded legs, wings pulled back as Shirley ducked beneath her scaled belly. The rope unfolded to become a kind of halter, stretching around the front of Eremi's chest and crossing over her back to tie underneath. "What's this for?" Kanzas asked as she tied the knot, the rope hanging a bit loose there.

"So we don't fall off," she answered offhandedly, focusing on the dragon. _Not too tight? _she asked Eremi, receiving a sense of approval in her mind. "She's ready, so let's go. It's too cold for her here."

"What, so you can talk to it or something?" he asked, watching as the dragon settled down low to the ground, allowing Shirley to climb up on her back.

The young woman slid her legs beneath the crossed rope to secure herself before leaning down, holding out her hand. "Yes… the vassal dragons can't speak, but they understand what is said to them and reply with a sort of… I don't know, emotion the Dragoon can feel. I'm sure you'll see for yourself… come on up, Kanzas." Hesitating a moment, she went on, "Sit up front, here."

Determined not to look any more apprehensive, he ignored her hand and clambered a bit awkwardly onto the dragon's back, scales slick beneath his fingers. Sliding in under the ropes, he let out a sigh of success before turning back to glance at her over his shoulder. "Don't want me behind you, is it?"

Shirley gave him a wry look, unwilling to admit that he had gotten it exactly. They were going to be alone together for a few days, a factor making her nervous indeed. "Yes, I want you where I can see you."

A quick thought to Eremi cut off his reply as the dragon rose into a crouch, wings flaring, and with a great spray of sand rose into the air. Knocked backward a bit, Shirley clutched onto Kanzas' waist, the man holding onto the halter rope ahead of him as they went higher, the shore and water falling away beneath.

He let out a whoop of laughter, tilting his head up to face the wind blowing hard against them. "This is incredible!" he shouted into the gale, letting go and flinging his arms out. "I'm actually flying! This is amazing!"

"Don't do that! Hold on, would you?" Shirley gasped, burying her face in the rough folds of his cloak. It felt as though her stomach had been left down below; she had never been horribly fond of flying, though she had gotten used to it by now.

Laughing again, Kanzas returned his hands to the rope, looking down as they headed eastward over Gloriano, Vellweb passing somewhere on the horizon. "Why aren't we just crossing the Death Frontier?" he yelled, the sound of the wind around them taking his voice away.

Blinking, she raised her head slightly. "What?" she called back.

"The Death Frontier!" he bellowed. "Why not?"

"So we don't alert Mayfil to Belzac and Syuveil!" Kanzas nodded curtly, and she thought, _I hope Belzac's all right… but he has to be. He's doing just fine. I bet they've started the challenge by now!_ Biting her lip, she ducked her head again, glad Kanzas wasn't bothered by the ground whipping by so far below. She, on the other hand, was happier to not have to look at it.

It was almost as if time didn't exist as they flew, though the sun moved across the sky as ever, growing brighter as they went south. Soon the ground fell away, leaving only ocean as Eremi completed her arc around Mayfil and the Death Frontier, making a semicircle to reach the warmer Southlands where the dragon's nest was located, a mountain overlooking a tree-filled valley.

A forest appeared on the horizon, and soon they were over it; though Kanzas, like her, had been still most of the way, he suddenly straightened up, blinking. "Stop," he said urgently, his weight in front of her shifting alarmingly as he leaned to point at something down below. "We need to stop. By that bend in the river!"

Shirley twisted his sash around her hand as if he might suddenly jump off, frowning quizzically as she glanced down at the large river winding its way through the bright-green mass of trees that edged its banks. "Why?" she called back. "What's down there?"

"Home!" Kanzas answered loudly, sounding almost oddly cheerful.

She jerked in surprise, looking back down again. He'd gone with them to Vellweb so readily that she didn't imagine he even had a home to return to. "Okay," she replied slowly, closing her eyes and shifting her hand to the back of the creature beneath them, feeling the smoothness of pearly scales beneath her fingers. _We'd like to land, Eremi, _she thought at her vassal dragon, picturing the river bend Kanzas had shown her and as usual requesting more than ordering the dragon to do her bidding. _You can take a rest here, too. _

There was a warm flash of agreement in her mind, and Eremi banked sharply, wind battering the two as she turned back toward the forest they'd just flown over. Shirley ducked her head, holding on tight with her heart in her throat. This was just not something she was going to get used to very easily - though her companion, as usual, seemed to have little worry for his own safety.

Branches swayed and cracked around them as the large silvery dragon plunged into the protection of the forest, wings flaring at the last moment to provide enough lift for a softer landing. Several trees splintered and toppled, a fall of leaves drifting down around them.

Eremi raised her head in unmistakable laughter as she settled, catlike, onto the ground she'd just cleared, and Shirley immediately slid down, stumbling briefly before leaning on a split trunk to catch her breath. _I hate when she lands like that…_ She shook her head, hoping her stomach would calm down quickly.

"Damn, I feel sore." Kanzas jumped down a moment later, hooking his hands together behind his back and stretching as he looked around, searching for something recognizable. "This way," he finally announced, gesturing toward the woman before walking eastward.

Scrambling to keep up, and glad she could finally stretch her legs, Shirley gave him a dubious look, brushing back bright red strands of hair the wind had pulled from her ponytail. "Your home is around here? There's nothing but trees for miles…"

"Yeah, makes good cover." He lurched up onto a boulder, peering over the thick growth before jumping back down again. "It's not far from here; the dragon got it right."

"Why would you need cover?" Shirley asked, wondering a bit about the unexpected detour. They weren't that far from the nest of the Violet Dragon, though, so she supposed it didn't matter if they stopped for a while. "Oh," she realized suddenly, "because you'd escaped your master?"

Nodding, Kanzas looked back at her, something glinting in his eyes she'd never seen before, but it was quickly lost as amusement returned. "We're outlaws," he told her, grinning. "We take things back from the Winglies."

Shirley blinked, surprised once more and feeling a sliver of fear pierce her chest. She knew it was silly, but then again… " 'We'? There are others here?"

"Don't worry," the man replied loftily, "I'll protect you."

"Ha," she retorted automatically, scowling. "I don't think so, Kanzas. I'm not afraid of…" Her words trailed off as he pushed aside a large, low-hanging branch, revealing the curve of the riverbank ahead of them. Debris was scattered everywhere across the sandy ground, lean-tos fallen into heaps of cracked wood; bits of destroyed pottery, shredded cloth and mangled metal were strewn everywhere. "Oh, my," was all she could manage to say.

She looked to Kanzas immediately to see what his reaction this was, but he appeared only mildly concerned as he walked right into the mess, stopping only briefly to unhook a jagged piece of tin that had caught and torn the leg of his loose black pants. "Hello!" he called brightly, not paying any attention to Shirley. "I'm back! I hope you kept hold of that jewelry, Col, I really do!"

Following him a bit defensively, Shirley looked around for any sign of hidden bandits, but there was nothing but the soft swaying of reeds by the river and the sound of lazily-moving water. "Kanzas…"

Still wearing that same unusual grin, he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled again, "Hey, you bastards, I'm back!"

"Kanzas," Shirley said sharply, reaching his side and tugging on his elbow to make him drop his arm. He jerked away from her, as if suddenly realizing she did, in fact, exist. "Kanzas, there's _no one here_."

"Just ghosts," he answered, finally turning to glance down at her, the smile gone without a trace. "Lots. I'll protect you." With that he turned and strode off again toward a pile of rubble, purposefully this time, and she stared after him, gaping.

_What is he up to now? This is not funny at all… _"Stop trying to scare me," she protested, but he made no response, bending to fling aside a plank from a particular heap smashed up against the side of a hill. Walking closer, Shirley was forced to dance out of the way as Kanzas suddenly stood back, judged his position and then kicked high, sending the standing remains of a hearth crumbling to the ground. "What in the world are you doing?" she tried again, growing increasingly irritated.

He didn't reply, tossing rocks out of his path, and her anger faded into interest as she watched a small stairwell being revealed, low stone steps leading down into blackness. As soon as he had made a gap large enough to fit through, Kanzas quickly went down the stairs, Shirley following after hesitantly.

It was dark, one single beam of daylight shining down from the ceiling somewhere, but she could hear the noise of flint striking metal, and a moment later a torch flared in the man's hand. Unlike what had been above, the room the light revealed was untouched, though filled with random junk that seemed to line the walls, leaving only the center of the dugout clear. A fire pit was located there, dug into the hard-packed ground and covered by a grate. "Good," he said aloud, "they didn't find it."

Curious, she murmured, "What is this place?"

"This is my place," he answered vaguely, sliding the strap of his bag over his head and dropping it to the ground.

Crossing to a pile of ragged furs and blankets, Kanzas began poking around, soon frantically flipping them over in search of something. Watching him warily, the red-haired woman was startled to see the object of his search when he finally found it - a tiny bunch of cloth not even the size of his hand.

In the crackling flame-light from the torch, she recognized it as a simple child's toy, just a square of fabric tied around a bit of stuffing. "A doll?" she whispered, confused at the expression of tenderness that crossed his face. _Did he have a daughter once?_ Shirley wondered with a pang of sadness at the thought.

Just as she opened her mouth to ask him, however, he gave her a sharp look and tucked the small bundle into the fold of his sash. Moving to the center of the room, he crouched down to check the wood in the fire pit before tossing in some stray bits of cloth for kindling and throwing the torch down to light it. "I'm staying here now," he said shortly, whipping off his cloak and spreading it over the furs before turning to poke through another pile.

"But," she protested as the fire grew, casting a warm, cozy glow across the dirt walls, "it's only late afternoon!" He grunted disinterestedly, and she heaved a sigh. "Fine… we're close enough now that another day won't matter. It's tiring sitting in one place like that, anyhow." Crossing toward the stairs, Shirley glanced up and asked, "What happened up there, do you know? Was it always like that?"

Still sifting through the piles of junk that lay about, he replied, "Winglies, I guess. They must have found out where it was. Doesn't matter; they killed everyone at that farm anyway. They don't need their houses now."

"Everyone?" Taking her pack from her back and setting it down near the entrance, she crossed her arms beneath her chest. "The other… outlaws?"

He nodded, eyes brightening momentarily as he found a small burlap sack, something inside it clinking lightly as he picked it up and continued looking around. "I'm the boss," Kanzas said proudly. "They killed the others, but not me. Sold me instead… ah, there!" He jumped to his feet, a large, flat book in his other hand. "Now, leave me alone."

Blinking, Shirley stumbled to retort as he brushed by her, finally tossing her head in exasperation. Her gaze landing on a small iron kettle near the fire, she grabbed it up and held it with both arms, pushing past him this time. "I'm just going to get water for tea, then," she informed him in a neutral tone. "I'll leave you be."

The book and the small bag in hand, he sat down on the steps near the light of the cave's entrance as if he hadn't heard, hunching forward over its tattered pages. Presently, she could hear the scratching of a quill against the paper, but it stopped soon after.

Shrugging, she carted the kettle around the debris and toward the river nearby, filling it with water and dragging it laboriously back toward the dugout room. There were splashes of water soaking her jacket front by the time she was done, and she took the patterned garment off, laying it near her pack before moving toward the fire. Kanzas had moved away from the stairs now, lying on his pile of furs with his hands behind his head.

Finding a smaller pot near the fire - she could have sworn it wasn't there before - she filled it with water and set it on the cooking grate above the flame to boil, smoke rising upward through the hole in the ceiling above. Watching the water silently until the bubbles started, she finally looked up again. "Do you want any?" she asked out of politeness.

"Sure," he mumbled uncaringly. "If you aren't going to poison me."

"I guess you'll just have to find out," she rejoined with a half-smile. Receiving no response, Shirley soon returned her attention to the boiling water and poked through her sack until she found the envelope of herbs tucked inside. Tipping a portion into the small pot and removing it from the fire, she let the tea steep for a while, locating a couple of cracked, dirty goblets among the mess and washing them out with the rest of the clean water.

Straining it with the cloth she'd brought for that purpose and pouring the tea carefully, she brought the first cup over to him, watching as he sat up to take it, unmindful of the heat seeping through the clay of the goblet. The past was never easy, especially for former slaves; she had to remember that, and to be patient now while he was visiting his. "How long have you lived here, anyway, Kanzas?"

He counted on his fingers, thinking back before answering, "Six - no, seven years."

"That's a long time to be an outlaw," Shirley commented, unhooking her bedroll from her pack and laying it out before the fire before settling down onto it with her own tea.

"I'm a good outlaw," he answered, smiling thinly before taking a sip of the tea and making a face. He kept drinking it, however, despite the way it burned his tongue. "They were starving, though, by the end. The animals around here aren't good to eat, mostly. So we had to go after the Winglies more and more. We got too good."

"They were starving, but not you?" she asked quietly.

Kanzas shrugged. "I take care of myself. And them. They're nothing without me. But it's myself first. Since forever."

Shirley wished that he would stop referring to the other bandits as if they were still around somewhere; it was making her feel rather nervous, as if someone might turn up suddenly. Then again, she half-wished right now that someone would. "You said before," she began slowly, "that you were once in Aglis."

"And you said before that you shouldn't pry!" he shot back, standing up quick enough to make her jerk backward. He shook his head, however, sighing. "No, we've got past that now, haven't we? You'd ask… your friend."

_You did say he was your friend, didn't you? _she berated herself. _So stop acting so jumpy!_ "If you don't want to talk about it," Shirley said soothingly, "I certainly won't ask again. It's sort of the same for me. I lived a short while in the Life Capital, but even that time was enough."

"Yeah, well, isn't that supposed to be the nicest city for Humans to have to live in?" he asked, waving a hand.

"For Humans," she agreed, rubbing at her knuckles as she remembered the sparkling Birth City, "but I don't know if it is for Winglies. I… felt sorry for them, sometimes."

Shattering ceramics made her nearly bite her tongue, her head flying up as he threw the goblet hard to the ground. "You should never," Kanzas snarled at her, stalking closer, "feel sorry for Winglies!" She stared up half-fearfully as he pointed down at her, and he quickly turned away from that look on her face, stomping up the stone steps.

Twisting to her knees, Shirley scrambled to get up, calling out, "Kanzas, wait!" He didn't, however, and once more she let him go, feeling almost used to his sudden moods by now. As she looked down at the steps, her eyes fell on the book he'd been writing in, which he'd left on the lowest stair. Bending to pick it up, she returned to her bedroll, settling down closer to the fire so she could see better.

She flipped open the cover of the book, holding it up closer to her face so she could read in the dim light. It appeared to have originally been a plantation ledger, but with paper being expensive most people tended to reuse it, writing between the lines of old books and letters. Kanzas was no exception, although she saw as she flipped through it that he had only used the first two pages, which were mostly blank to begin with.

Breathing in the faint musty smell, Shirley looked over the facing pages. On the right, underneath the engraved type of 'LEDGER' in Wingly script, was a long row of marks, the few at the bottom obviously newer than the others. A large, wavy-lined drawing of the Divine Tree covered the left sheet, the black ink faded to a brown matching that of the first tallies. Words surrounded the sloppy sketch, written in large, careful handwriting like that of a child who was just learning to copy his letters:

_divin tree sav holde and, pretekt yor soele untill I clam it  
yo'r myne for ever_

Furrowing her brows, the healer's lips moved soundlessly as she tried to figure out what the badly-spelled writing might say. She could feel a shiver running down her back as it became clear, the childlike handwriting only making the statement creepier.

Her silent speaking stopped abruptly, and one second later the book was whisked from her hands, fast enough that they still remained raised in front of her face. "That's mine," Kanzas snapped, tucking the account book under his arm.

"Sorry," Shirley muttered, looking down sheepishly. The rubble outside crunched underfoot as he stalked out again, and she sighed, turning to straighten her blanket and lie down for lack of anything better to do.

Since they'd arrived at this place, she had been seeing more signs of the darkness he had hinted at when they'd met, that night in the inn. Because she had not seen much proof that what he'd said about killing was any more than a sarcastic taunt, she'd slowly begun to believe that it was just that. Now - after seeing that pageful of tallies - she was not so certain.

_You're just getting worked up over nothing, _she told herself, turning to her side and trying to get more comfortable. _They were probably there before he got it, anyway. It's just because you're alone with him and thinking too much._

Despite her self-assurances, however, that night Shirley slept in Kanzas' home with her hand on the hilt of her dagger.

* * *

It was morning, and Kanzas was confused. Returning here with Shirley along had brought up the memories he had been living with ever since he'd escaped Aglis, no less painful even with the passage of time. 

He sat cross-legged on the bank of the river, the early-morning sunlight falling on his shoulders and the bent back of his neck, warming him with its faint rays. In his cupped hands he held the small doll he'd recovered from his room the night before, amberine eyes looking at its worn fabric figure with intense concentration.

He hadn't wanted to do it. But slaves had no choice. And later - later he'd found that he wanted to. That he enjoyed it.

So, what would _she_ think of him now?

_'I won't!'_

In this moment of confusion, Kanzas wasn't even sure if he was referring to Shirley or to the young woman who had given her name to the doll he held.

_'Again, Human! Damn it, you do - it - again!'_

She was his sister; he hadn't seen her since he was six years old, since she was three. Had never expected to see her. Wouldn't have even recognized her, except that he still remembered his mother's face, and his mother's face shone out from under Shirley's sweep of red hair. Wasn't it _wrong_, what he was doing to her now?

_'I love you, Kanzas, it's okay-'_

And then again…

_'No, I won't do it!'_

The man looked down again at the small bit of cloth in his hands, crushing it tightly in his grip. His lips formed three silent syllables, speaking the name to himself once more.

_'It's okay. I love you. It's okay.'_

And then again… maybe he had left right and wrong behind him a long time ago.

"Um, Kanzas?" Shirley's voice began softly from behind him, making him straighten suddenly. "I was wondering…"

He twisted a bit from where he was sitting, looking over his shoulder at her. Blushing a little, she stood there wearing a pale patterned skirt and a light, short-sleeved blouse that lifted over her navel as she shrugged shyly. "What's this?" he asked, startled.

"I thought I'd fit in better wearing Southlands things," she explained, her hair loose now and falling over her shoulders as she looked down. "In case someone spotted us, they wouldn't know we were from the north. Besides, it's too hot now for a jacket. Do you think it's okay?"

He got to his feet, riverbank soft underneath his shoes, and walked forward to circle her slowly, seeing the blush on her face deepen. "The armor vest too, of course?" he asked curtly, feigning indifference, and she nodded sharply.

"It's with my pack," Shirley mumbled, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Hadn't she known somehow that this was what would happen if she'd asked his opinion? Why else had she come down here - wanting him to look at her? The thought was raising all kinds of realizations in her mind.

Kanzas had noticed how much less confident she was without the half-Giganto around; Shirley probably didn't even realize how much she depended on Belzac or the others to support her against the rest of the world. _I'll see about that, then. I don't feel like sharing her with anyone. _"It's good," he told her finally, stopping in front of her.

Her eyes had fallen on the doll in his hand, and she didn't seem to have heard him, clearly wondering why he was carrying such a thing around. "That, it means a lot to you," she deduced quietly.

His throat seized up against the words before he could say them, but he swallowed hard, knowing he had to. "Her name… was Jidena."

Moving hesitantly, she stood near his elbow, looking down at the cloth doll, with one finger reaching to touch the rough, stained fabric of its head. "She was…?"

"Jidena," Kanzas began, looking ahead emotionlessly, "was the girl I was going to marry. That's who she was. But I killed her, and this is what's left."

Shirley's hand flew back as if she'd burned it, and she clutched it to her chest with the other one, drawing back in shock. "Why?" she whispered, not understanding.

He shook his head, his expression stony. "I didn't - mean to. It was… a long time ago. I just want you to know it now. So you don't find out later, when things are different. Because," he said with sudden insight, his face brightening, "if you fall in love with _me_, it can't be my fault, can it? It's only… wrong if we both know…"

"Kanzas," she said slowly, her hands falling, and he saw in her expression a glimmer of the Shirley he'd known on the trip to Vellweb, the one who wasn't scared of him. "Have you ever heard the expression 'you must let go of the past in order to embrace the future'?"

"I have now," he replied, hiding the doll once more in the curve of his closed hand before tucking it back under his sash. "But I can't. Understand that. I just can't explain it to you. And it was a long time ago. The Winglies' fault. Understand?"

She nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. "You would feel better if you did let it go," she told him. "But I think I do understand." Her tone grew vaguely amused. "At least a little."

"Don't be afraid," he said, his scratchy voice growing soft. "Shirley, do you regret freeing me now?"

"Of course not! And I am not afraid," Shirley answered strongly. Backing up her conviction, she reached for his free hand, holding it tightly. "The… ghosts here can't hurt me."

_But I can-_ Pulling her forward with a jerk of his arm, Kanzas leaned down and kissed her, releasing her hand a moment later as she pushed away, taken aback by the movement. "Why did you come here this morning? It wasn't just to call me for breakfast."

She rubbed the back of her hand across her lips unconsciously. "You said," Shirley began in lieu of an answer, her eyes narrowing in growing realization, "that it wouldn't be wrong if I… fell in love with you?"

"That's right," he answered, turning away, but his voice remained clear to her ears as he started walking back to the ruined lean-tos. He glanced back at her once, teasingly. "I just have to wait for it."

She stood frozen until he was out of sight before sliding down to her knees on the sandy ground, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. _You don't know what you've gotten yourself into, _her mind told her loudly. She was mystified by everything he had just told her; the only thing clear now was that she really wasn't afraid.

Shirley understood the scars the past left on someone. She'd seen it repeatedly in all the slaves she'd helped to free, even the ones who had become her friends. It was obvious that something bad had happened to Kanzas in the past, and she owed it to him now to continue to treat him kindly, to stop worrying about what would happen to her life if she let him into it.

No, what was more, she owed him a healing - if there was some way to put his mind at ease, if something like that was in her power, then she would do her best to help him.

Still, she couldn't quite grasp how things had grown into this out of the vague flirting between them on their first journey. They'd both been acting differently with the others around, and she realized now how Belzac's protection had worked in other ways, keeping her from feeling too serious about it. Her thoughts flew to her friend, who had surely, surely defeated the Golden Dragon by now, and she wondered what he would tell her to do.

Of course, Belzac didn't trust Kanzas, didn't like him. Hadn't he told her that the night he'd left? What if he'd left because…

_He's waiting for me to love him, he said. How can he be so sure?_

It wouldn't be like Rose and Zieg's relationship. They seemed to have stepped right out of a story, the illustration of love at first sight. Nothing with Kanzas would ever be like that; there was too much of him locked away, hidden with the past he clung to.

Shirley stood up suddenly, brushing the dirt from the light fabric of her skirt, her face set. She did not have to think about this now. The Dragoon Spirit was more important. She was worrying about too many maybes at this point, and it was time to uncover some definites. She could figure out her feelings later; right now, the Violet Dragon was waiting. After _that_, she would see.

* * *

Somehow, the rest of the trip wasn't quite as awkward as she'd thought it would be. They rode as usual on Eremi's back, held on by the harness; at first Shirley had worried about where to keep her hands, but slowly it seemed just natural to let them rest around his waist once more. She'd felt his larger hands cover hers, had started resting her cheek against the curve of his shoulderblade. There was no need to speak, since the words were hard to hear anyway. 

_Maybe,_ she thought sleepily, the wind whipping against her, _things will sort themselves out after all._

Something below, however, made all the sleepiness suddenly dissipate. She sat up straight, gaping at the sea of tents that filled the approaching valley, sitting directly between them and their destination. Most of the trees had been cleared from the valley itself, leaving the land looking bare and scarred. From Kanzas' sudden tenseness, she figured that he had seen it for himself.

Eremi seemed to have sensed it too, slowing hesitantly, and Shirley quickly gave the order to land out of sight. Once more the dragon dipped toward the mountains, sliding between the trees this time as effortlessly as a raindrop from a cloud, her impressive rounded limbs and wings pulled close to her body.

When the white-silver dragon had settled again, Kanzas turned to face the young woman behind him, pulling his legs out from under the harness rope. "What the hell are Winglies doing in that valley?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she answered, biting her lip, "but that was a huge camp. An army base, it seemed like. Oh, I hope they aren't gathering to attack Gloriano!"

"Well, it's a good possibility," the russet-haired man answered her carelessly, his bag clinking, full of things he'd collected from the bandit camp. "You can't do anything about it, anyway. How close did we get to the dragon nest?"

Glancing around, Shirley clambered down as well, resting her hand on Eremi's scaly side and heaving a sigh, acknowledging his point this time. "Close enough," she answered. "A few hours to the west, since we can't go straight through the valley. We'll just have to walk the rest of the way. Hopefully, they're used to seeing dragons around here and won't be too suspicious."

"Let's go, then," he grumbled. "This is damn bad luck."

_Lay low, Eremi, _she advised her vassal dragon, reaching up to pat the creature's pointed snout when she lowered it worriedly toward her Dragoon. _We'll be back soon. _

The rest of the journey through the hills was straightforward enough; the nest of the Violet Dragon was located on the top of the largest crag, and there were enough trees that they could stay under the cover of the branches and not be seen by any scouts from the base below.

This unforeseen difficulty was weighing on Shirley's mind; the Winglies were definitely growing more nervous. She only hoped that they would hold off on an all-out attack against Gloriano until all seven Dragoons had come into their power - otherwise, her country would be crushed, as well as the Humans' hopes of ever overthrowing them. Though she wanted to mention it aloud, Kanzas seemed preoccupied, and so the long walk was made in general silence.

Finally, as the altitude grew and the slopes became steeper, they stopped for a break underneath the shade of some huge pines. Dropping her pack to the ground, Shirley sat on a stump to catch her breath, taking a drink from her waterskin and eyeing the dark crack in the peak's face, the opening of the cavern the dragon was in.

"Not far now," she commented to break the silence, lifting her foot and loosening her shoe to inspect a growing blister on the back of her heel. "Are you ready?"

There was no answer; there was no one else there at all.

Looking around frantically, Shirley's eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth with her hand briefly before leaping up and shouting out, "Kanzas, no!" _Of all the times for him to go off on his own!_ Leaving her pack where it was, she caught up her bow and quiver and began to run for the dragon's nest as fast as she could, her eyebrows knitting in worry. _What are you thinking? We could lose everything-_

* * *

Something crunched beneath the sole of his leather shoe, but in this darkness he couldn't quite see what it was. He had a good idea, though, of the kinds of things a dragon might leave to warn off visitors. The space crackled with electricity, making the hairs on his forearms stand up - but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling, more like he was wading through a sea of warm air. 

Just ahead, he could see a pale violet glow, seemingly emanating from the ground just ahead of him. His hand pressed against the rough rocky wall to give him some idea of where he was, Kanzas stopped, looking at the light suspiciously.

_Do you hesitate because you fear? _

The voice, echoing inside his skull, made him jerk back defensively, his fists raised, hand clenching his claw-piece tightly. "Who's there?" he called out, looking around at once to try to discern some kind of shadow separate from all the others, some figure watching him.

I_ am here. The end or the beginning. It is up to the fate given you by Soa the creator. _

A crackling shower of sparks tumbled to the ground, illuminating the giant shape looming before him. The Thunder Dragon seemed to be a mass of spikes, its scales a pale, glistening purple color. Small eyes like chunks of turquoise shifted to focus in on him, the glow from the ground increasing enough that he could finally see two feet in front of himself.

Kanzas drew up straight, dropping his hands. "I don't believe in fate, dragon," he declared. "I'm just here to get your spirit."

The huge creature let out a breath, making a sound much like amusement, small glints of electricity floating briefly around its tiny head. _Ah, but I wonder, are you fated to gain my spirit? Only the true incarnation of dragon within Human may claim it. It will not shine for any other. _

"I'll get it," he announced confidently, "and it will glow for me, too." He could only hope, however, that the dragon would play fair; if the faint light in the nest went out, he'd be in serious trouble.

_You seem sure of yourself, _the Violet Dragon rumbled. _Do you wish so badly to defeat the Winglies? _

Nodding, Kanzas replied evasively, "I'll kill Winglies, yes."

_It is for this purpose that we, the seven remaining Grand Dragons, agreed to sacrifice ourselves, _the ancient creature murmured, almost as if lost in thought. Encouraged by this vague sleepiness, the man edged forward a little, adjusting his grip on his claws. _Our children grow dull, and the Winglies enslave them as they do your people. They must be guided if they are to aid you in the uprising. Do you deserve to rule dragons, Human man? _

"Yes!" he rasped, chuckling lightly. "If you deserve to die for it."

A sound rang in his head like sibilant laughter. _You are a true child of thunder; the greatest of the elements, we are without counterparts, without fundamental weaknesses. But tell me, Human, where is your support, your Dragoon? _

Momentarily bewildered by the praise and disapproval in one shot, Kanzas shook his head dismissively, crouching back and sneering up at the dragon's faintly-outlined form. "What, Shirley? I don't need her help."

_You will not defeat the Winglies alone - and you will not defeat me alone. _

"Wait and see!" he snarled, springing forward as if shot, his arm curled and ready for the strike. There was a piercing grating sound as the claws hit against hard scales, the dragon twisting its head to avoid the blow to its cluster of eyes.

A moment later the head swung back, huge horns whirling in an arc, and Kanzas found himself suddenly in the air, smacking hard against the side wall of the cave. He fell to the ground, catching himself on hands and knees, and got back up to his feet a bit shakily. "Bastard!" _The eyes have to be the weak spot, with all those scales everywhere else…_

Spitting to clear his throat, he launched himself at the dragon again, delivering two successive punches before spinning into a roundhouse aimed at the jaw. In response it raised a clawed foot this time, swiping at him, and he was able to duck out of the most of the strike, though the sharp points managed to rip two deep furrows into his bicep.

Reeling slightly, the man kept moving as fast as he could to avoid the counter-strikes, but nothing he was doing seemed to cause much damage to the creature at all. He'd never fought a dragon before - but there had to be some way to do this. Zieg and that other one had done it; hell, _Shirley_ had done it, hadn't she? One of them had defeated a dragon without someone helping, and he could too.

"Damn it, I _will_ kill you!" he howled out, ducking back against the craggy curved side of the cave to catch his breath momentarily.

There was no response, but a familiar waver in the air made Kanzas tense up a moment before a crackling ball of teal lightning exploded into being above his head, the bolts smashing downward through him and into the ground. Gasping despite himself, he ran his free hand up across his forehead, wiping away cold sweat. "Barely felt it!" he boasted. "I'm thunder too, remember? You can't hurt me!"

Regardless of his words, though, he tugged a vial of healing potion from inside his vest, splashing the liquid at himself and feeling the half-paralysis the spell had caused on his muscles fade away. He barely had time to toss down the bottle before having to roll out of the way, the dragon's huge horns swinging above him and knocking chunks of rock out of the wall, spraying him with the shards.

Feeling better now, Kanzas continued to scrape away at the dragon, doing his best to aim toward its eyes; the closer he got, the more enraged the Violet Dragon was becoming. And then, suddenly, twisting himself hard enough he could feel his joints pop, he thrust his fist upward, the claw in his hand piercing one turquoise eye.

The dragon roared in pain, blood streaming down the glittering scales, and a wave of energy knocked Kanzas down onto his side. As he stumbled to his feet, his arms raised to guard himself, he watched as its body seemed to radiate a shimmering glow, thin, spike-like wings stretching outward and snapping stalactites away from the ceiling. It threw back its head before it lurched forward with a huge rumbling noise, snout lowered.

_No! No-! _The word seemed to echo through his head a moment before the pain exploded through him, a horrible strangled scream tearing from his throat. Kanzas could feel his feet leave the ground, his eyes wide and fixed on the dragon's long front horn, now driven through his stomach and out the other side.

He kicked helplessly, feet scrabbling against scales, trying vainly to push himself off the spike. Sparks of electricity ran like rings outward, slamming into him, his muscles spasming. "You - you - you-" he stuttered, only half-noticing as his claw slipped from his hand, ringing out metallically as it hit the ground.

_Fool! Fool, to challenge me alone! _With a whip-like motion, the Violet Dragon threw Kanzas off its horn, sending him smashing into the wall. Blood spattered brightly along the stone when he fell, leaving a red smear trailing down to the growing puddle around his still, crumpled form. _You, Human, shall have what you deserve- _

"Yes," Shirley's voice said, a hard edge to her tone, "a second chance." Clad in her white Dragoon armor, the woman drew back the string of her bow, a beam of light sliding from her fingers. Looking upward, she let her arrow fly at the ceiling, its magic allowing it to pass through as if it wasn't even there. "Moon Light!"

The beam of healing energy surrounded Kanzas, taking with it as it faded the worst of his wounds, the skin beneath the tear in his shirt nearly whole again and badly discolored. He shoved himself up onto hands and knees, his arms shaking from the effort, and the dragon sneered, _Ah, so there was one here after all. Welcome, child of the White-Silver Dragon. But I am afraid your efforts today will be in vain. _

Simply hovering in front of the huge creature, Shirley tried not to wince at the sound of Kanzas being violently sick, throwing up the blood that had collected in his newly-healed stomach. He swiped the back of his arm across his mouth, standing and walking with a quick but wobbly stride toward her and grabbing up his weapon from the ground. He said nothing, but she wasn't surprised.

"So you say, ancestor," she replied to the dragon finally, her eyes flicking meaningfully to the man next to her, "but arrogance seems to be a trait of your element. Shall we continue the challenge properly now?"

_Do begin, Dragoon. Show me your worth. _

Kanzas growled low in his throat, rushing forward again to attack, and Shirley, scowling, drew upon her spirit's magic for another spell. "Star Children!" she called, raising her bow above her head, droplets of light dripping like water around her. Drawing down her hands, she sent the rain of white radiance toward the dragon, where it hissed brightly before fading, sending the cave into momentary thick blackness.

When the faint glow returned, the spiky beast was snarling in pain, its scales blackened in places, loosened by the force of the descending beams. Kanzas' strikes hit harder now, she noticed, her energy failing her and her feet touching down once more. Raising her bow, Shirley began firing arrows, running to avoid slashes from claws and spikes and tensing her jaw against the pain when she ended up being too slow.

She could feel the power rising within her again; the Violet Dragon's spirit energy, its very life force, was being drawn into her own Dragoon Spirit to recharge its strength. Reaching into the pouch at her belt, she grabbed hold of a small bottle, uncorking it and tossing the contents at their adversary. _Try this…!_

A jet of fire streamed up from beneath it, held there before dissipating, and the dragon immediately turned, rocks flying in the small enclosure as it swung its large forefoot, the claws ripping painfully into her leg as she scrambled out of the way.

A moment later, there was a roar from the earth above as the ceiling of the cave collapsed, rocks hitting Human and reptile alike as they rushed in, nearly covering the dragon in the center. It burst from the pile, spraying debris, its head tilted back as it looked up briefly at the brightness of the blue sky above, sunlight streaming brightly down.

The acrid, metallic smell of blood filled the air suddenly, even more than before, and she struggled upward to see Kanzas driving his claws into the underside of the dragon's jaw, piercing a small area of skin where the scales had burned away. His entire fist nearly descended into the reptile's flesh; the dragon's scream rang in her ears, making tears spring up at the corners of her eyes.

"Die!" Kanzas hissed, yanking his hand back and sliding out of the way as the dragon collapsed into the heap of stone, its short legs giving way beneath it. He fell to his knees before he even realized it, clutching at the half-healed puncture wound in his gut.

_Take it, take my spirit, quickly, _it struggled out, sparks crackling from its open, gaping mouth. _Wield my soul against the Winglies. _

He laughed shortly, almost automatically retorting, "Huh, see! I told you!" The russet-haired man suddenly looked confused, his face lined with the pain he had been ignoring until now. "What do I-?"

The tears streaming freely down her cheeks, Shirley drew her dagger from its sheath on her arm, rushing forward awkwardly over piles of rubble. Using one of its spikes as a stepping-stone, she clambered up the side of the dying dragon, charred scales hot underneath her palms. "Thank you," she choked, raising the blade, "for your sacrifice, Thunder Dragon!"

The dragon rocked to the side a bit, its gaze focused on the wiry man kneeling across from it. _Even had you won alone… _it breathed to him laboriously, _you would have lost… _

Kanzas watched, disbelieving, as the young woman drove the blade into the creature's largest eye, slicing hard to the side before thrusting her hand within the turquoise orb. Something small and shimmering came out in her palm, covered in a clear fluid that dripped between her slender fingers.

Shirley slid down from the dragon's corpse, her gaze focused momentarily on the long nose-horn stained almost to its end with the man's blood. "It meant," she said quietly, limping toward him, with her other hand scrubbing sticky tears from her cheeks, "that if you'd killed it alone, you would have lost the Dragoon Spirit, not knowing how to get it."

"That's it?" he breathed, ignoring the comment, sheathing his claw-piece before straightening a little and using the rocks around him to help himself back up to his feet. "That thing from its eye?"

"The dragon's soul, taken just as its life ends," the healer announced; as Kanzas held out his hand to receive it, she relaxed her fingers, feeling the small orb fly from her palm on its own. _It truly accepts him, _she thought, feeling a spark of happiness amidst her sorrow at ending the dragon's life.

The moment it touched the man's fingertips, it burst into a bright violet glow, rays dancing blindingly in front of her face, though he didn't even blink, gazing at it in wonder. She could feel the Dragoon Spirit around her neck resonating in kind, adding its own glow shining through the cloud of rock dust hovering in the air of the former cave.

Kanzas covered the orb in both hands, muting the glow a little, and looked up at Shirley, his face breaking into a look of rapture, starling her with its intensity. He looked so different to her somehow - calm, if that was truly the word, almost serene. "This power!" he exclaimed hoarsely, his head suddenly whipping to look at the dragon's cooling body, and the moment passed. "What the hell is…?"

There was a bright flash of light once more, emanating from the body and obscuring it momentarily. When it faded, the corpse was gone, but lying amidst the fallen rock was something else instead. "The dragon has been reborn," Shirley whispered. "Its final child, your vassal dragon."

"My god," he said, stunned, staring at the small violet-scaled creature, half-formed spikes already sprouted along its squat form. It raised its head to look at him, and the Dragoon Spirit in his hands thrummed like a beating heart, a gentle probing thought piercing into his mind. _Hey, _he found himself thinking back, almost instinctively. _You're mine. _

"Give him a name," Shirley urged gently. "He cannot speak like the Grand Dragons, but he will know it, and know you."

He shook his head, wincing as the motion made the whole pit of debris spin before his eyes. He closed them tightly, trying to make the dizziness cease. "I don't know, I don't - just… okay, Taranis. Call him Taranis, I don't know…"

"Taranis," she repeated thoughtfully, "that's an interesting name."

"Yeah, well-" he responded, but got no further as he pitched forward, his forehead banging hard on the boulder as his body slumped across it.

_Oh, no, I forgot… _A moment too late, Shirley reached for him, dragging him up again by the back of his shirt and sitting down to lay him across her knees. He'd passed out from the shock of his wound combined with receiving his spirit, she saw, gently touching his stomach where the half-healed hole had broken open again. "Kanzas, you arrogant fool," she murmured with fondness.

He had relaxed in unconsciousness, all the lines melted from his face, making him actually look his age for once, though his hand remained clenched tightly around the Violet Dragon's spirit. She found something familiar there in his pale features, bending closer to look as she reached for her own Dragoon orb to heal him.

"-quake, do you think?"

"No, it couldn't be. You heard it! It was the dragon…"

Choking down a cry of alarm, Shirley's head shot up at the sound of the voices coming from overhead. _We can't be found here!_ was the only certainty she had at the moment, and so she locked her arms beneath Kanzas' and around his chest, rising up to awkwardly drag him somewhere out of sight. He was heavier than he looked, and the rocks were piled rather precariously, threatening to send her tumbling.

Just as she was sure she'd have to fight the newcomers, Shirley made it to the bottom of the debris, wedging herself and the man between the remnants of the cave wall and some of the rubble and trying to ignore the pain of her own wounds in the process. Pressing her mouth against her arm to muffle her labored breathing, she looked up just as two Wingly soldiers descended from the sky above, taking in the mess of the former dragon's nest.

"See, I told you!" the second voice said again, shaking his head. "Something happened to the dragon here."

"Then what's _that_?" The first soldier pointed toward Taranis - though, Shirley saw with growing horror, the small dragon had already gotten bigger, the circumstances of its birth endowing it with an advanced growth cycle.

But, worst of all, she could feel the baby reptile's confusion in her mind, a bond usually only shared between vassal dragon and the owner of its own Dragoon Spirit. Afraid, he was searching through the link for a response that couldn't be given.

"Looks like it had offspring," one of the voices said. Gravel tumbled down the slope as the Wingly scouts approached Taranis, pelting the two Humans; Shirley curled forward to shield Kanzas from it, biting her lip and praying they wouldn't be seen.

"Idiot, it was a male dragon."

"That doesn't matter with dragons!" There was a soft flare of light as the Winglies suddenly flew back; the small violet-scaled dragon was rearing up as best it could, sparks crackling from its mouth to warn the two soldiers away. "And maybe the big one's coming back!" he argued, touching down again a short distance away.

"Then I have an idea. We have leave coming up, right? And I have tickets to the arena."

"Ah, lucky!"

"Well, the dragons they've got lately are those tiny species, you know? There's no fun at all in it. But a Grand Dragon in the arena?"

Her heart descending into her throat, the woman knew exactly what the soldiers were talking about. Closing her eyes hard, Shirley tried to focus her thoughts and tell Taranis to fly; the dragon's head raised, and it looked around as if trying to hear, but she knew that he couldn't understand her.

"Is it just me, or did this thing get bigger than it was a minute ago?"

"Well, if we both make the sphere, we should be able to get it back to base, right? The commander would go for it too, don't you think?"

The soldier snorted. "For a cut of the selling price, yeah. But we can't go over his head."

"Right. Anyway, let's get it out of here quick, in case the big one _does_ come back."

The two Winglies hovered in the air, their hands out to trace identical magic sigils. Shirley winced, hearing Taranis' high-pitched scream of fear suddenly cut off by the orb of energy surrounding him. _Oh, I'm so sorry!_ She hid her face against Kanzas' shoulder as the two soldiers ascended into the air, taking the dragon with them. Nothing like this had ever happened before - and she had no idea what to do about it now…


	5. Chapter Five

Author's Note: Bit of a horror/gore warning in this one, if such stuff bothers you.

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter Five

_Back here again, to this. She glows like she's some angel, like she knows a heaven exists._

Shirley's face hovered above him once more, lit by the dancing white glow of her Dragoon Spirit as she healed him. So pure and holy - untouchable and unreachable… shining…

How bright would her blood be, if her hair was that red?

_This time, _Kanzas told himself as he stared up through half-closed eyes, the thought arranging itself dangerously into his sleepy mind, _this time, I could kill her…_

But the hand he raised toward her moved lazily and was caught easily by one of her own, pressing it back down to his chest. "Lie still," she commanded, sounding a bit vexed.

And, though the intense light remained, he could suddenly see again, see how human she actually was; the treacherous thought vanished. Trying to sit up, the man suddenly let out a sound mixed between a growl and a cry of pain. "Damn it, that hurts! When did we get down here? And what the hell am I lying on? There's a rock digging into my back-"

"I told you, lie still! I've had quite enough of your games today, Kanzas!" Her hand on his shoulder, she shoved him down again none too gently.

Giving her a startled glance, along with an exaggerated wince, he was about to ask what her problem was before being distracted by the glow of the violet Dragoon Spirit he was holding, still clenched unconsciously in his hand. His fingers aching as he relaxed them, he held the small marble up to the light of the sky overhead, staring thoughtfully at the mist that swirled within it.

Several long moments later, the piercing ache in his stomach faded, and soon after the glow of both spirit orbs died down as well. Pushing upright with one arm, the bearded man looked around at the wreck of the dragon's cave, a grin growing slowly across his face at the sight of the damage. "Now that," he announced smugly, "was _great_."

"Oh, that's right," Shirley said bitterly, staring down at her hands in her lap, fingers running across the smooth, glassy surface of her spirit. "Don't even mention how you almost lost everything."

"Hey," he protested sharply. "It doesn't matter. It didn't happen. I still got the spirit orb."

She clenched her hand around the silvery jewel, her head snapping up. "You would have died, Kanzas! Are you even going to acknowledge that I helped you?"

He made a derisive noise. "I would not-"

"Stop it!" Raising her hand, Shirley whacked the side of his head with a glancing blow. "And that's for sneaking off!"

_What the hell?_ Kanzas raised his hand to the spot unconsciously, sitting up straight and baring his teeth in a snarl. "Hey!"

"Don't you 'hey' me!" Her face reddening, the woman went on, "Don't you care how worried I was about you? If I hadn't been able to transform then, you'd be dead!" She drew in a deep, shaking breath, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them tightly. "I wasn't worried about losing the spirit, I was worried about you. Doesn't that matter to you at all, Kanzas? Or is everything just a - a game to you?"

Frowning, he looked down at the rubble beneath them, seeing in the bright daylight quite a few blood-spattered stones. Dragon blood some of it, maybe, but not all of it. "Sorry," he muttered reluctantly, struggling to say the words as his pride rebelled against them. "You did save my life, Shirley. I would have died." He sighed deeply, finally meeting her oddly hard-edged gaze. "And I'm not ready to. Not anymore."

She mulled this over silently, watching him as he quite painstakingly studied the rocks surrounding them and the pile stretching up above their heads. "Thank you," she finally mouthed, barely audible. Brown eyes above tear-stained cheeks smiled, though her mouth couldn't manage the gesture. "That's really all I wanted to hear."

Looking toward her, Kanzas reached with his free hand across his legs, prying one of hers away from her knees and squeezing it tightly. Drawing it to his face, he leaned into her palm, not trusting himself to say the right thing just yet. She blinked a bit warily before relaxing, resting her head against her own outstretched arm, brushing his temple gently with her fingertips.

A slight stream of dirt and rocks slid down the pile, tumbling to plink sharply against his leg. Looking up quickly, he saw a small pink creature making its way across the rubble near the top of the hill. It resembled a tiny plucked chicken; when its beady black eyes focused on the two Humans below, it opened its beak, letting out a squeak and a jet of flame.

"Why are all these things here?" he mumbled, eyes flicking toward other movements. Small dragon-like creatures were moving slowly around the rocks, as if investigating the ruins.

Shirley watched them for a few moments before pulling her hand back, standing up with a wince. "Smaller dragon species tend to live around the nest of a larger one, for protection," she answered quietly. "They must be wondering where it went."

"Yeah, but-" He cut himself off, holding the Dragoon Spirit up with a puzzled expression. _I thought I was supposed to hear my dragon… I remember hearing him before, feeling something in my head…_ Kanzas suddenly leapt to his feet, startling her, and began to stride purposefully up the rock pile, catching himself as some of the rubble gave way beneath him. "Shirley!" he called down as he reached the top, small curious reptiles skittering quickly out of his path. "Where's my dragon gone?"

Uneasy, she began to pick her own way up, half-crawling in places where it was steep. He was definitely not going to like the answer. "Kanzas," she began, taking a deep breath and brushing dirt from her patterned skirt as she reached the top of the pile, "some Wingly scouts heard the fight and came to see what happened. They took your vassal dragon with them, I'm sorry…"

"And you didn't do anything about it?" he cried back, outraged.

"I'm not even going to answer that stupid question!" she returned, shaking her head with similar ire. "Maybe I _could_ have killed them, but that's not the first thing I think of to solve my problems!"

The russet-haired man's eyes seemed to light up with sparks as he whirled on her angrily. Crossing her arms, Shirley gave him a warning look, and with a muttered curse he turned away. "Damn it, what do the Winglies want my dragon for?"

"They said they were going to send him to Kadessa," she answered reluctantly, feeling ill at the thought. "For the arena."

He was silent at this, bending to tug at a piece of bone sticking out from between two rocks and finally yanking out a bleached animal femur the dragon had left behind. Raising it up lightly, he aimed and threw it toward the small pink chick, which had just struggled its way over the lip of the pile. It clipped the creature's naked wing, the bird immediately puffing up and exploding, turning the bone to instant ash.

Kadessa. He'd thought that'd he'd beaten the odds, having been bought by the one bidder in the Mekadris slave market who hadn't wanted to see him mutilated for the public's delight in the Kadessa arena. But it wasn't fate now - it couldn't be. He didn't believe in fate. Heat seemed to emanate from the violet orb in his palm, warming his suddenly-cold fingers. "Well, won't this be fun?"

"What?" Shirley asked, hugging herself as if for warmth, bow and quiver hanging loosely from one hand.

Kanzas, remaining motionless, answered, "I'm going to go and get Taranis back. I gave him a name, he's mine, and I'm getting him back from them. With or without your help."

She wasn't quite sure what to say; somehow, though she'd imagined he would be angry about the dragon being taken, she never thought he'd care enough to want to go after it. "Oh, Kanzas," the woman finally gasped, "I didn't want them to take Taranis! But we can't just go into Kadessa!"

"Why not?" he shouted back, turning and flinging out his arm. "I'm a Dragoon now, damn it, aren't I? And I'm not going to be the half-assed one running around without a dragon! Got it?"

"I understand, but," she protested, "Kadessa's the capital, the military's based there - we don't have any chance of sneaking in and making it out! And if the Winglies find out about the Dragoon Spirits before we're ready for war, they'll crush Gloriano instantaneously!"

He walked past her then, plucking at one of the bands of his left armguard to loosen it before sliding the spirit orb underneath it. "Don't go, then. What do I care? And what do I care about Gloriano, either? Let it burn."

That struck her hard, her eyebrows knitting before she shook her head to brush it away. Jogging briefly to catch up, she informed him, "Say what you want, but we both know you aren't walking to Kadessa. And Eremi won't carry you without me."

"You still owe me," he announced shortly, looking ahead as they began following the path downhill, "so I'm collecting for taking care of the kid's matter, then. Just get me there, Shirley, and then go home."

_Kanzas, you stubborn man, I should just agree and leave you to it, _she thought sharply. "Don't insult me like that. You know I'd never do that, anyway."

A corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. "Good, because I'm thinking there's a real easy way to get in. I was sold for a gladiator, and I'll go into the arena as one. You can just be bringing me there for Frahma."

"It's reasonable," she agreed reluctantly, "but Charle's never sent a slave to the arena before. Someone might be suspicious."

He shrugged. "Just say I made her mad."

"They'd believe it, too, after being five minutes around you," she told him crossly, only half-joking. Worry, however, overtook her anger, squashing it completely. How odd it was to see him being so concerned about something besides himself. "But, Kanzas, they'd likely make you fight before you could ever get to the dragon!"

Sighing, he put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "That's not a problem. There's no way I'd give the Winglies the satisfaction of killing me like _that_."

"Okay," she whispered. "Promise me."

"Promise," Kanzas answered carelessly, lifting his hand and running fingers through his messy hair to sweep it back again.

Not quite reassured, she still let him go on ahead as they reached the small area they'd stopped in earlier, retrieving her pack from its spot next to the stump. Belzac was going to yell at her for an hour when he found out, she knew, feeling pangs of homesickness for Gloriano and for her friend's face even though they'd only been apart a few days.

But it was the right thing to do; the memory of the baby dragon's terrified screams seemed to cling to her mind despite the logical reasons she was coming up with not to go. And she hadn't always thought things out before acting, either - trying to stop Flanvel Tower from destroying the outpost, for one.

So she'd just go along with Kanzas this time, hoping all the way that Soa had not decreed her fight was to end within Kadessa's stones.

* * *

The ride north again had been long and tiresome, reaching into morning of the next day, and uneasiness had settled over the two Dragoons at the thought of what was to come. 

It was impossible, and foolish besides, to simply approach the floating Wingly capital on the back of a dragon, and so they'd been forced to land on the ground a distance away so Eremi could hide for a while. There was a small settlement of farms and plantations surrounding a commons, which had a teleporter they could use, therefore arriving a lot less suspiciously.

Although Kadessa was in the north, winter weather did not touch the countryside here, the sky blue and the air as warm as if it was only autumn. The Winglies' magic and the power emanating from the capital had extended the growing season here, as well as altering the climate in varying ways around the world.

"So," Kanzas was saying slowly as they walked along a path between tall grain fields ready for harvest, "what you're telling me is that the orb absorbs spirit energy from other things when I attack them? And when it has enough, then I can transform?"

"That's right," Shirley replied, her head hanging and her hair covering her face from view when he looked over at her. "I don't like it, but that's how it works."

_Well, that's easy enough for me,_ he thought, knowing better than to say it aloud. If there was one thing he'd noticed since he'd spoken to her by the river near his home, it was that she had changed toward him. He wasn't sure how, exactly, but she was definitely treating him more casually, and that included getting upset when she didn't like what he'd said. Kanzas wasn't used to watching his mouth, but it was preferable to getting an earful about his manners.

The trail was becoming a brick road as it reached the edge of another property, descending over a grassy ridge and up the hill again on the other side of the depression toward the small village center. Looking upward, Shirley sniffed the air, frowning. _Ugh, it smells awful! _she thought, lifting the collar of her shirt up to cover her nose. "Are they letting a harvest molder?" she demanded, though the reek wasn't exactly that of decaying vegetables. "That's not like Winglies, even grounded ones."

"I think you know better than that," Kanzas replied mildly, raising his hand to shade his eyes from the golden sunlight as he looked down into the hollow. A sparse cloud was moving around a stand of blackened, dead trees; the buzzing in the air soon revealed the 'cloud' to be a mass of flies swirling around five mangled Human corpses.

Kanzas could hear Shirley start to gag, spinning away to throw up her meager lunch behind a stand of grasses, but he barely registered it, only able to stare down at the display.

There were four men and one woman dangling from tree limbs, chains twisted around one's throat and hanging another by his ankles; the rest were pinned to the trunks with stakes, one upside-down. Mouths gaped, eyes if they had them wide with horror, and all showed signs of damage by magic, their naked flesh charred, or blackened with frost, or battered as if with rocks.

He began moving toward them down the hill, fascinated by the gruesome sight. Although his hands whipped around to shoo away the flies, they buzzed persistently back around the rotting bodies. Shirley moved up close behind him, her hands pressed against her mouth. "Why?" she managed to gasp out, shaking her head in horror. "Why is this here?"

"They tried to escape," he said, his rasping voice loud in the stillness even despite the drone of the insects; the suspended corpses seemed to sway even more violently at the sound of it. "Rise against their masters, maybe. I've seen this. I've seen this before."

"Oh, Divine Tree, I - I can't even cry," she murmured brokenly. She too had seen death before, but never like this. "I just feel so… empty…"

His eyes seemed almost golden against his skin, which had gone pale. "It's a warning," Kanzas spat. "A damn good one. I _saw_ this…" It was exactly the same - why change what worked? He moved closer to the dead forms, tracing a finger down the cold, bloated flesh stretched around one trunk.

Shirley jerked backward, her fingernails digging hard into her palms. "No, don't touch it!" she shrieked, covering her eyes, desperate to avoid seeing it if some piece of flesh fell away from the delicate exhibition. Her throat clenched as her stomach turned over again, fighting back the bile.

"I've seen this," Kanzas repeated, clenching his fist and drawing it back. "They hang you up alive and kill you slow, and every scream, every moment you live, and as you die, and after, you help them keep their hold on everyone, because no one wants to end up like you! They tear you up and throw you into the ocean!"

He thrust his hand forward, missing the outstretched limb and ramming it into the brittle bark of the tree beneath. With a cry of rage, the man drove his fists into the trunk repeatedly until the dead wood creaked back and his knuckles split open, welling streams of blood. Skin still tenuously attached to the corpse above flew away from its frame with every blow, pelting the ground.

"Kanzas, please," she said from somewhere behind him, her voice thick and strained. "Please stop. Please."

"Stop?" he yelled, momentarily stunned by the plea. _Will those be _your_ last words too, Shirley?_ He delivered one last, hard swing, the tree groaning under the blow. "I was never that nice!"

Eyes fixed on the dead slaves arrayed before her, she edged forward; it was strange how numb she was becoming, the agonized expressions on their faces becoming almost bearable to see. "Please," Shirley repeated, grabbing for his arm. He yanked it out of her reach, gasping for breath. "They've been destroyed enough!"

Finally sinking to his knees, he leaned against the tree, the cold clamminess of what had once been a foot brushing gently against his forehead. Morbidly, he thought the dead touch felt vaguely comforting. "There were six of us who thought it was a good idea, trying to escape," he said by way of explanation. "For ten years I knew them, all slaves like me. My only family. We were the brave ones; we had it all worked out. It was a perfect plan."

The comforting touch of Shirley's hands along his back made him tense briefly, and she nearly jerked them away before changing her mind. Trying to think of something to say and finding nothing, the young woman settled for simply waving flies away from them, crouching down low to hear his soft voice.

"We would all go together or not at all," Kanzas went on, the words flying uncontrollably. "But it didn't work, and we all died together. We all died. Some slower, some faster. I died last. They put us on stakes along the waterside wall so nobody would try it again - don't be stupid, don't be stupid or they'll throw you into the ocean, all your blood into the ocean…"

"No," she told him strongly, putting her arms around his shoulders, leaning against his back. "You're alive, Kanzas. You're still alive, and there's a reason!"

Wearily, he retorted, "No, there is no reason. They didn't die so I could become a Dragoon and fight the Winglies. These slaves here didn't die for your cause. Your cause!" He laughed shortly, bitter and sharp, bracing his sore hands in the soft, ashy dirt. "What slave will stand with you when they know they'll die like this? The others, they all begged our masters for forgiveness before it was done! 'Please stop, I'll be good again, I swear! Please stop, stop, _stop_'-"

The lump in her throat welled up into tears as she moved her hands suddenly to cover his mouth, to muffle the painful litany; now she understood why he was so reluctant to join the campaign against the Winglies. The sobs came grudgingly as she tried to hold them back. "No! I refuse to believe we all live and die for nothing!"

He pried her fingers away, feeling the wetness of her tears against his neck. "Shirley," Kanzas asked softly, his voice calm now, "why are you crying?"

Surprised by the question, she answered thickly, "For - for the pain of these people, and for what you had to go through! I can't help it, I want all this pain to end! I will _make_ it end! We've been given the chance to win freedom for everyone, I believe it!"

"That's you all over, isn't it?" he remarked, grim amusement in his voice. "Someone gets cut and you start to bleed." Rising into a crouch, Kanzas let go of Shirley's wrists before standing, staring at the corpses a moment longer before spinning to face her. "But I don't want your sympathy. And I don't believe in your faith, either."

"What do you believe in, Kanzas?" she returned in a soft, piercing voice, glistening eyes glaring up at the man from where she sat, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Or are you so full of anger you have no room for hope?"

"Hope? What has that ever gotten me?" He waved his hand in a slashing motion, scowling. "We've wasted enough time here. I'm going now to get my dragon back from them. With or without you." He turned and stalked away from her, and as soon as he reached the road leading toward the village square he broke into a run, so fast she'd have had little chance of keeping up even if she'd started at the same time.

Determined not to chase after him like some smitten girl, Shirley rose slowly to her feet, taking a deep breath and quickly wishing she hadn't - she didn't notice the stench when she wasn't paying attention to it. Again covering her face with her hands, the healer took a few steps backward, peering at the dead slaves between her fingers with saddened, disbelieving horror. He'd been right, it was a very effective warning against rebellion, but she at least would not let her fear stop her. _We will fight this war for you, _she thought at the five Humans, _so that it will never happen again. _

Continuing to back up slowly through the shallow depression, the flies buzzing madly around her, she finally reached the paving stones and tore her eyes away from the display to hurry up the opposite hill, leaving it behind her although the image still danced in front of her eyes. Finally, she tried to focus on something else, breathing in fresher air and looking ahead, past golden fields of grain that should have been harvested and covered with snow by now.

Kanzas had already disappeared from sight; she once again wondered at his willingness to enter Kadessa, especially after what he'd just told her about the futile escape from Aglis. Maybe, Shirley mused, he was trying to make up for it somehow by rescuing Taranis. But if he still refused to fight the Winglies with Diaz, what was he going to do?

Only a fairly short distance away lay the village center, a small gathering of shops and a meeting area to service the denizens of the farms and plantations in this area, especially those who didn't want to go to the floating cities for supplies or couldn't afford the prices there.

It was eerily similar to the village center near the farmstead where she'd spent her childhood; for a moment she stopped along its edge, remembering her time as a slave. _The commons where I used to meet with Belzac and the other neighbor children… it's just like this, even halfway around the world._

She had been freed when she was fourteen, but little things like this often brought back those bittersweet memories. It wasn't even as if she'd had a cruel master, or an unhappy life. But she had been property nonetheless, and that still lent fuel to her conviction that Humans had to be released from Wingly domination.

There was a line of trees along the ridge of a knoll, almost like fencing around the small, neat buildings that covered the low hills. As she followed the road in, Shirley noticed a flicker of movement under one of the huge trees, near the back of a house connected to a small smithy. Kanzas' outline separated itself from the shade, waving at her once to catch her attention.

Leaving the path, she hastened her pace a little through the tall grass, frowning in confusion as she jogged toward the Wingly house, looking around for any sign of the residents of this area. No one seemed to be here, though from the smell of smoke and heated metal in the air, the smith had been working in his shop not too long ago.

Kanzas had calmed down, not seeming worried in the least about being caught. She wanted to ask if he was all right, but the moment she got close enough to see his eyes, she knew that any further discussion of Aglis, or the executed slaves they'd seen, was not going to happen. In fact, his expression told her, he was going to act as though they'd seen nothing - and, right now, she was willing to agree with that sentiment.

Grabbing her arm when she entered the yard, the man quickly pulled her inside, closing the door behind them. "Just keep your voice down," he muttered, pressing back against the wall as he looked around the corner.

Mystified, Shirley stared around at the inside of the house; the room they were in was a small kitchen, the wall lined with cupboards and covered with hanging cooking implements, leaving little space for the round table in the middle. "The house was empty?" she whispered back, rather skeptical. There were spatters of blood along his hands and arms, and spots visible on his clothes where the black fabric was faded, but that could have been from his torn knuckles, couldn't it?

Her doubt was easy to hear in her tone, and he gave her a flat look. "It's a Wingly house, and you still care if it was empty before I got here or not?" Shrugging at her half-hearted nod, he went on, "Stay back from the windows. It's a pathetic village, though. I doubt anyone's around to see we're in here."

"They can teleport to larger towns if they want to," she told him, gazing around warily. She'd never broken into someone's house before, and it felt a bit like disturbing a tomb. "Most of the people here live on the farms surrounding us. This is only here for convenience, for the slaves and those who don't like cities. I grew up in a place like this."

"Like this, hm?" Kanzas asked, turning to nudge with his toe a pile of metal and chain lying in the corner. It clinked lightly, the top of the pile sliding down to reveal that it consisted of sets of manacles tossed in a heap.

Swallowing heavily, Shirley counted five of them. "Not like _this_," she murmured soberly. "W-what are we waiting for?" she went on, hasty now. "The teleporter should be right in the center of the village green."

"Now you're the one rushing into things." He waved around at the room before crossing his arms. "Think like a bandit, Shirley. Let's get prepared while we have a chance. And I've got to go into Kadessa as a criminal slave, so I've got to look it."

"How do you mean?" Bending, he swept up one of the sets of shackles and tossed it with a loud clatter onto the kitchen table, gesturing pointedly. She gave the cuffs a look of revulsion, her hand flying to her Dragoon Spirit for comfort. "Kanzas," she finally continued, shaking her head, "I'm no bandit. And I don't like this plan."

He smiled; after all they'd just been through, she was surprised he could manage it. "I'll make you into one, then. But first, leave your stuff and go wash your face in the fountain. You look like you've just got stomped on."

Shirley flushed in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. She knew she looked like a mess - he didn't have to go out and say it like that! "You aren't exactly a vision of loveliness yourself!" she retorted, swinging her pack down next to where he'd left his own bag, a bit harder than she needed to.

"I'm not supposed to be," he answered seriously. "I'm the criminal, and you're Frahma's trusted slave. We have to look like they'd expect us to."

She gave him a sour look, edging around the table toward a basin on the counter. How could he jump from pain and rage to such cool logic in so short a time? With the expert motion of one used to dealing with Wingly things, Shirley tapped the top of the rim, sending a jet of water streaming up and splashing back down into the metal bowl.

Kanzas watched momentarily as she took a breath and leaned her face into the water, holding back her hair, before turning to eye the cabinets speculatively. Flinging the doors open, he pulled various things down uncaringly, flour spilling to the floor and sending up clouds; jars clinked together loudly, making the woman spin to look at him in nervousness. "Ah, good," he breathed, pulling a small bottle from the corner. "My hands hurt like a bitch-"

"I could just take care of that, you know," Shirley told him, patting her face dry with a towel before folding it and laying it back on the countertop where she'd found it.

"No, not now," he said inattentively, yanking down a decorative bowl from a glass-fronted china cabinet and plunking it on the table. Pulling the cork from the bottle of healing potion with his teeth, he poured the pale green liquid into the bowl before sitting down and putting his hands in it. "It's too bright. Someone might wonder where that light's coming from. Why don't you find some food to bring? You weren't planning to be away from your city so long."

Half-heartedly, she retorted, "Why don't you stop ordering me about?" But she sighed and did it anyway, opening the pantry and gazing into it warily. _We can't take time to argue; if someone does find us here, we'll have to fight…_

The potion having healed the gashes in his knuckles, Kanzas shook the excess away as he stood, moving to finish ransacking the kitchen with practiced efficiency. Even so, dusk was coming on by the time they'd finished repacking the bags so Shirley could carry everything; he was sure they wouldn't allow him to keep his things at the arena. Reluctantly, he also handed over his claw, not liking to be without it.

Finally, he turned to face her, holding out his wrists, hands loosely clenched into fists. "Okay. Put the chains on now."

She was hesitant, reaching for the manacles and simply holding them stretched between both hands. "You're sure, Kanzas?"

"Sure as ever," he responded immediately, sounding persuasive. "Come on, you were worried about us being caught, so let's not push it any longer."

Shirley didn't answer, slowly pulling apart the edges of one iron cuff to slip it over his wrist. She heard a _snick_ like the sound of a key turned in a lock, and her eyes widened to see the ring of metal appear whole and unbroken. The smith had apparently used magic to make these.

Quickly, she looked up; Kanzas took a deep breath and shook his head, holding the other wrist out farther. When she'd attached the other end, he pulled on the chain to test it, finding it disappointingly secure. "Well, can't quit now," he said softly, forcing down the nervousness forming in his gut. "Kadessa. Let's go."

Wiping sweaty hands on her skirt, she reached over her shoulder, sliding her fingers under the flap of her overstuffed pack to pull out a wide silver disc attached to a ribbon. "Charle's mark," she explained as she slipped it over her head, the metal gleaming dully in the dim light. "It should help us get past anyone who tries to stop us. Just let's not do anything that would make her regret giving it to me."

Not responding to that, he frowned suddenly. _Good of me to think of this now instead of earlier,_ he berated himself crossly. "Where are you going to stay, Shirley, while I'm in the arena? It might take a while for me to get to Taranis."

"Charle has a house in Kadessa," the red-haired woman answered quietly, rubbing her thumb along the seal's etched design. "She's never there, just a few servants pretending to be slaves to keep it up. Keep up appearances." Dropping the pendant, she looked up, her expression hardening. "Let's go, before I can think of more reasons not to."

"Right, then."

They went out the back door again, Shirley closing it once more behind them, feeling a bit guilty for having left the kitchen like that. She wondered for a moment how Kanzas had gotten inside, there being no evidence of a broken window or latch. Maybe they'd been lucky and it had just been left open.

Inside the house, in the room around the corner, rivulets of blood seeped out of the cracks in the wood of a tall wardrobe, gathering in bright red puddles on the floor.

The village was still and quiet, only a few lights in upstairs windows betraying the fact that anyone lived there at all. The two Humans ran across the green, almost silently but for the jangle of the short chain on Kanzas' shackles. The teleporter stood in the center of the neatly-trimmed grass, three large spikes arching upward over its pad.

When their feet touched its surface, a pillar of green-tinted light bloomed up around them, disappearing into the dusky sky above. Wrapping her arm through the man's beside her, Shirley announced clearly, "Kadessa!"

Immediately, the light around them seemed to curve downward, forming a bubble that encased them before shooting off into the night. There was only a blur of color in front of her eyes; she didn't even feel a rush of air before the transporter set them down on the huge entrance pad, a large vaulted chamber now surrounding them where there had once been grass and sunset-streaked sky.

A moment later, a spearhead greeted them as well, a Wingly guard swinging his weapon to bear on the two new arrivals. He advanced on them slowly to push them off the transport, making way for any others. "Humans! State your business here!"

Taking in a deep, shaky breath, Shirley adopted the most ingratiating tone she could, bowing her head toward the guard. "Oh, sir! My mistress, she sent me to bring this man for the arena, sir!" Laughing nervously and inwardly hating the way she sounded, she lifted the medallion she wore, watching his expression instantly change at the sight of the Frahma design.

"Let me see that." Though she knew he recognized it, he came closer, taking it to look at more closely. His eyes caught on something else, and he reached to pull her Dragoon Spirit from underneath her collar, holding the small orb on its chain up the same way Kanzas had a week before. "Why do you have _this_, Human?"

She resisted the urge to glance over at the russet-haired man, knowing it would be suspicious. Her palms were slick and cold with fear, but she smiled mindlessly and told him, "Oh, that's a star gem, sir! My mistress gave it to me! In the Southlands we wear them-"

"I know," the Wingly answered disgustedly, letting her go, "your stupid false religion. Lanterns in the sky or some rot." He eyed her again, obviously smarter, or at least more wary, than most guards, and she cursed the bad luck that had allowed him to be on patrol when they arrived. "So, Charle Frahma sent this man for the arena, you say? Where are the documents?"

Swallowing hard, she reached back to her pack again, stretching to grab for the ownership paper she'd set on top. Taking the chance, she looked over at Kanzas, finding him standing next to her with a blank expression; he didn't seem to have even seen it when the guard had grabbed her spirit orb.

Pulling the folded sheet out, she offered it to the platinum-haired man, who read it over carefully. "I suppose everything checks out," he muttered. "Stay here." He reached into the pouch on his belt, pulling out a palm-sized square of metal. Flicking his fingers in intricate patterns above it, he summoned the image of another soldier, who looked up and saluted. "Send two guards to the transport chamber to escort a slave to the arena."

Shirley stood with Kanzas in awkward silence afterward, aware of the sentry's gaze on them. She attempted to keep her eyes wide with wonder as she looked around, the large gray-brick room lit by magical, many-colored lights that created patterns all across the curved walls.

A few minutes had passed before the called guards entered, crossing over to their comrade and saluting. "This him, sir?" one asked, giving Kanzas a smirking look.

"That's right," he answered, waving the paper toward him in an annoyed gesture. "Lady Charle's sent him for the arena, so take him there."

"Right, sir."

Rolling their eyes when their superior looked away, the two took hold of the wiry Human's arms, grinning to each other when he made no motion to pull away from them. "Ha!" the second laughed. "Shocked that Lady Charle sent him to fight, no doubt. He looks like a ghost."

The first nodded emphatically. "Gonna _be_ one soon enough, boy," he drawled mockingly, receiving no response.

Shirley looked on worriedly, seeing how pale Kanzas had gone, how frozen and tense he looked. _Is he really that scared?_ she wondered, the thought alarming her even more. She hoped he was just acting, like she was, but something about him was telling her that wasn't the case.

She took several steps after them as the Winglies pulled him through the open, arched doorway, her hands flying to the hollow of her neck. "Where are you going?" the guard behind her snapped, and she spun to face him guiltily.

"I'm supposed to go to Mistress Charle's house, sir," Shirley whined, mentally reaching out and giving him a slap.

He crossed his arms. "Not wearing that bow, you're not. Hand it over. The quiver too."

Grudgingly, she obeyed, angry about parting with her weapon but knowing protesting wouldn't help. At least her dagger and Kanzas' claw were hidden away in her pack, though they'd do her little good if she was attacked. Charle's seal wouldn't protect her from everyone.

"All right, now go," the guard said sullenly, waving dismissively at her.

Forcing a curtsey, Shirley turned and hurried outside, pausing outside the doorway to stare around. Kadessa's pathways and teleporters were lit against the night, a network of colored lights culminating in the huge palace topping the city, its walls bright with a shining indigo. Melbu Frahma ruled the world from there, and his sister's mansion was somewhere nearby. She'd be able to find it - eventually.

She was alone now, and weaponless, and lost, but the young woman couldn't even muster the will to blame Kanzas for getting her into this. It was possible he would be killed trying to rescue his dragon, and she hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye…

* * *

For the past week, the morning light hadn't been able to soothe her. The very atmosphere in Kadessa was strangling, leaving her feeling tired even after a full night's sleep. 

Shirley had been given a spare room in Charle's mansion, which as she'd expected was empty save for a Human couple living there, pretending to be slaves, who kept it clean and in repair. Their names were Asa and Kimi, and while they were good company, they couldn't ease the homesickness she was feeling or the worry for her friends. She should have been there when Belzac returned to Vellweb; she should have found some way to go with Kanzas so that she wouldn't have to wait for news to trickle in to tell her if he was still alive or not.

This aimless waiting and wondering was driving her insane - the only thing she had accomplished since she'd been here was to speak with a few of the Humans, investigating how willing they were to join an uprising. At home she would have been doing _something_ by this time of day, and the air wouldn't feel so stagnant, even if it was so much colder there than here.

Shaking her head, Shirley turned her attention to the metal claw-piece that was lying in front of her crossed legs, resting on a rag unfolded across the bedspread. To busy herself, she had found a wire brush and had been trying to clean the stains off the other Dragoon's weapon; the once-shiny metal had turned dark and discolored with use.

_Certainly he knows to clean it before putting it away, _she thought, scrubbing at the blades and doing little but scratching long marks into the claw's patina. _Really, is he trying to ruin it?_

Dropping the scraper in exasperation, she slid her fingers around the weapon's grip, holding it with a bit of effort up to the light. Kanzas' own fingers had worn in the metal, making it uncomfortable to hold, and as she put it down again the shorter middle blade scraped a fine cut along the side of her finger. Hissing, the red-haired woman immediately raised her hand to suck on the tiny wound, scowling at the claw before sliding it back into its boxy sheath.

There had been several minor matches at the arena in the week since they'd arrived; Asa had gone for her to bring back the results each time, since she didn't want to risk being seen there herself. Apparently 'Charle's slave' was becoming a good bet. Of course, no gladiator could last forever, and she was afraid that even Kanzas would run up against a creature or an opponent he couldn't beat before the dragon's turn came.

Letting out a puff of air in a sigh, Shirley fell back, her head hitting the feather-filled sack behind her. Closing her eyes, she drifted for a while into a light sleep, woken some time later by a knock on the door.

She watched as an older Human woman let herself in, glossy brown hair pulled into a long braid behind her. "Shirley?" Kimi said, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe. "I just heard something from the delivery man. Apparently, Melbu Frahma himself is going to be attending the fights tomorrow. I thought it was something you'd like to know."

"It is!" she replied quickly, sitting up straight. "Thank you, Kimi!" _If Melbu Frahma will be there, they'll certainly use Taranis against the fighters! _That fact was almost certain, but it was also going to make it more difficult for them to escape in one piece. They needed to have a plan, and that meant she had to talk to Kanzas before the match tomorrow - somehow.

* * *

"Please, where's Arin? I didn't - oh my god!" 

There was a loud snorting noise, making Kanzas look up incuriously, his hand covering the back of his wrist where his Dragoon Spirit remained hidden beneath his shackle and further beneath his armguard. _What's going on now? Nobody shuts up around here for one second._

All of Kadessa's gladiators were housed in a large room underneath the arena stands, high, thin slitted windows letting daylight fall through on one side. Layers of cruddy straw covered the brick floor, the air inside reeking of sweat, piss, vomit and blood, all mingled together into a stench so powerful it nearly had a shadow.

The floor beneath the tiny windows was the most coveted space in the room, but there Kanzas sat alone. He hadn't said much since his arrival, but he'd quickly made clear what happened to people who thought his silence meant he was easily bullied.

There was a hierarchy of rank here, the same as in the bandit camp, and though he could have been 'boss' here, too, he chose rather to stay above it all. Truthfully, the way of life here was affecting him more than he'd like to admit; once he'd calmed his fear of being a slave again, he had almost begun to enjoy the fighting.

Generally, the slaves fought together against opponents, though at times they were set to kill each other. In his very first battle, a rather routine one, a dozen gladiators had been chained in the middle of the arena, creatures released around them which they were supposed to slay.

Instead, Kanzas had taken that opportunity to off the 'head' fighter, a man who insisted on trying to demean him, and the bloodthirsty Wingly spectators had screamed their approval, cheering him as he pounded another Human's face into the dust, bludgeoning him awkwardly with the short sword he didn't know how to use. Sometimes he could still hear those cheers, even a week later, and he liked it. He knew Shirley would hate that fact - sometimes that made him like it more.

Naturally, nobody bothered him after that.

The newest commotion was being caused by a fresh slave who had just been thrown into the foul, crowded room. He was a lanky man, mostly elbows and knees, and now his thin face was filled with horror as he realized what was ahead of him. "Oh, gods! They can't do this, they can't! We just stole one sheep, we were starving-"

A low chuckle resounded from the figure of a tall man, looking down derisively at the one crouched near the ground below. It soon caught the rest of the crowd, each joining in the mocking laughter. "Tough, man - tough shit. I don't know where _you_'ve been living, but yes, they can," the fighter named Donar announced, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, chains jingling at the motion.

Not even making an attempt to assert himself, the new slave reached up to tug on the leader's ragged pants, pleading, "Please, where would Arin be? My wife, do you know where they've taken her?"

"Your wife?" The larger man cackled, kicking him away. "You think they're dumb enough to put women in here?"

"They don't even get sold fer the arena," another piped up. "Lady crims go fer whoreshacks. Guess she's got her lotsa husbands now!"

The lanky man let out a cry, falling forward to hide his face in his forearms; Donar gave him another kick, spitting derisively. "Coward! You'll last five seconds in the arena! But I bet you _wanna_ die, huh, by now? Little gutless bastard!"

Rolling over with a gasp of pain, the man's gaze focused on Kanzas sitting across the room, the watery beam of light around him brightening the red in his hair. The other gladiators instantly hushed as the new slave crawled slightly toward him, hampered by his chains, the sound dying as if they'd been turned off.

The Dragoon turned his head, and at the impassive look in his dull amber eyes the man collapsed flat into the filthy straw, sobbing bitterly. The others swarmed around the new slave, swinging back long heavy chains and raising fists and feet. He looked back toward the window as the blows began, the sound of a young dragon's cries ringing in his mind.

_We will hurt them, _he soothed Taranis silently, having quickly discovered that he could speak to his vassal dragon, even though he still had no idea where he was being kept. _Together we will hurt them. Just wait a little longer. _

Presently, there came the slam of the main barred door, and moments later the smell of burning as a handful of Winglies stormed in, the strength of their spells literally blasting the knot of Humans apart, several men hitting the walls forcefully.

"All right, that's enough!" Halueth, the foreman, boomed, dull grayish beard bristling with his anger. "Back up, apes, or feel it again!" He snorted down at the bloodied face of their victim before looking back up again. "I need Charle Frahma's slave! Where is he? C'mon, speak up, you lazy assholes!"

No one answered, and, unfolding from his position on the floor, Kanzas stood up slowly as if the idea had been all his own, brushing clinging straw from his black pants. Tossing his head to the side once as if to stretch the muscles in his neck, he smiled at the stocky Wingly and answered, "Yeah?"

The man's garnet-dark eyes narrowed. "Don't get funny with me, Human. Think you're too good to listen? Come here," he snapped his fingers, "right _now_!"

Kanzas glared at him, one foot sliding forward; the anticipation of the slaves in the room was thick, but after a moment he just gave a negligent shrug, crossing the room as ordered. The junior guards stood there to warn the others back as the barred door was swung open and the wiry man ushered outside by the irate foreman. "What's this all about?"

"Keep your mouth shut!" Halueth gave him a hard crack on the side of his head with his fist, making him spit out an angry curse, raising his hand to the spot. The Wingly immediately grabbed hold of the chain, forcing his arm down again, oblivious to the murderous look he was receiving.

The gray-haired man began marching him down the hall, out of sight of the main room. Kanzas felt mildly curious now, not sure why he was being separated from the other slaves. He couldn't make himself feel very worried, though, despite the fact that the situation called for it. If he'd been found out, he'd die fighting, not as a slave-

And he had the Dragoon Spirit. Oh, yes, he couldn't forget that.

The foreman's voice startled him, his hand on his arm making him stop suddenly at the junction of another hallway. "If it was anyone else," he muttered to himself, twisting the metal covering the place where the links of the chain met the cuff on his wrist, "I'd have just told her to sod off. But it's not wise to cross a Frahma; the little bitch would go crying back to mistress and I'd be worse off than I am here with you stinking animals…"

_What is he talking about?_ the man wondered, watching blandly as the chain of his shackles began to glow softly, shrinking until his wrists were touching, the cuffs like two loops of metal.

"Your owner has a message for you," Halueth finally told him bluntly. "Such a damn nuisance on a day like this, and her brother I have to try and impress at that. I don't have time to watch over you, but remember there are guards waiting, and if you try to run your brains will spill on these bricks, got it?" He gave Kanzas a shove down the dead-end hall, brushing his hands together as he turned to go back the other way.

Catching his balance awkwardly and straightening with a snarl, he twisted around, half-expecting the form of a Wingly woman waiting for him. He was both surprised and not surprised at all to see Shirley standing there instead, wearing Charle's seal around her neck like a shield. Chains and whips hung neatly on a rack attached to the wall behind her; she looked uncomfortable with their presence, standing as far from them as possible.

She looked up, meeting his eyes, and for a moment neither said nor did a thing, listening as Halueth's footsteps echoed back down toward the larger room before finally fading away. Finally, she took in a deep, shuddery breath of air, shaking her head at him. "Are you all right?" she asked, speaking quietly against the emptiness of the hallway.

"I'm alive," he answered, raising a shoulder in a shrug.

Shirley nodded slowly. "Yes, you promised that."

Reflectively, Kanzas rolled his eyes at the ceiling and said, "I did, didn't I?" By the time he looked back down, however, she had taken several steps forward, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly. "Hey, there…" he began, blinking in surprise. Reflexively, he tried to put his arms around her, biting his lip in aggravation as the cuffs held them fast.

"Melbu Frahma will be watching your fight this afternoon," the red-haired woman told him, speaking near his ear to avoid being overheard before leaning her head against his shoulder. "And it'll be the dragon. If he sees your - your power…"

"Let him see it!" he hissed sharply, ducking his own head closer. "I won the damn thing, and I'm going to use it!"

"But, Gloriano-" Shirley protested, standing back to look up at him. At the sight of his blank expression, her brows knit in disappointment, and she flung her hands out with a sigh. "No, wait, I know the answer. You don't care."

He shrugged again, staring over her shoulder at nothing in particular, just some brick in the wall of the hallway._ She said I was free! Everyone all along the line told me I was free, so why do they think they can drag me back with obligations?_ "I won't serve anyone again. That's all."

Making a noise of frustration, she tried to explain, "But it's not like having a master, Kanzas. Not if you follow someone out of - of respect, because you have the same goals!" She caught her voice rising and covered her mouth with her hand, looking around. Other than the low noise of the crowd faint in the distance, it remained silent. "After everything that's happened, and all we've tried to do for you, can you still walk away feeling no sense of duty at all?"

He whirled on her, secretly proud as she held her ground, glaring back. "Are you going to start with debts now? Because I take debts very seriously."

"If that's true," Shirley whispered back, "then mustn't the Winglies pay for what they've done to you? Why are you standing shackled under the arena, Kanzas, if you don't care?"

_'It's okay, just do it - I don't blame you-'_

His eyes, falling on the rack of whips and chains behind her, widened significantly. If he listened for it, he could still hear Taranis crying out for him, flashes of questioning pain that hit his mind like a wave.

_'I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, Jidena!'_

"Fine!" Kanzas growled, making an abortive gesture with his tightly-manacled hands. "I'll join your campaign. But it's not going to be for nothing."

Shirley blinked, her next retort suddenly useless. Raising a hand to her collarbone in surprise, she asked, "Wait, you're serious?"

He looked at her impatiently. "Didn't I just say so? You still owe me for keeping me from getting out of this foolishness when I had a chance. So I'll swear whatever you want, in return for something from you."

The woman swallowed a bit nervously, nodding. Hundreds of maddening possibilities flittered through her mind in the second before her answer. "What is it you want, then? If it's within reason-"

"Don't ever leave, Shirley. That's all I want from you."

She fought for words to respond to that with, her brows knitting as she searched Kanzas' face for some hint of an explanation. He looked deadly serious, his amber-brown gaze fixed on her and his shoulders tensed. "I don't understand," she mumbled weakly. "You're the one always leaving."

Breathing out explosively, he replied, "You're forcing me to join this fight. Don't abandon me when I do."

"Oh," Shirley sighed in sudden realization, "I'd never-"

Once more he cut her off. "I'm doing this for you, and for the chance to… _upset_ some Winglies. Not for Diaz, and certainly not because I think it'll accomplish anything. I'm not going to change to fit with your friends, so don't you leave me to them, Shirley. They don't want me, I can see that already. You want my power, and you'll have it, but I will… I will not…"

The thought had hardly entered her head before she acted on it, cupping his face with her palms and standing on her toes to kiss him hard. Startled by the impulsive move and everything it meant, Kanzas froze for a moment before leaning into it almost violently. I win, he thought smugly. And she still had no idea…

"I won't desert you," Shirley breathed against his lips, pulling away, "I promise I won't."

_Even when you learn the truth? That will be your real test of devotion._ "I'll remember that," he answered, his eyes closing briefly, uncertainty written across his face. "Shirley, in case something goes wrong this afternoon, I wanted to tell you-"

Before he could get the words out, she kissed him again, her heart racing anxiously in her chest. Though her first thought had been to comfort him, the gesture had warped into something else instead. Now there was no way to take it back, to pretend she'd meant something else, and she wasn't quite sure she even wanted to. "Nothing," she told him, her voice soft but fierce, "will go wrong."

He had to be crazy to want this, even for a moment; brushing his lips down along her jawline, he reached for her hands, pulling them up between them a bit awkwardly thanks to the cuff loops. "I've found you. I've found you, and you're tied to me again," he murmured in her ear, his fingers curling between hers. "Not anything can keep us apart, Shirley. And… someday… I'll tell you just why that is."

Shirley blinked, feeling the scratchiness of his beard against her skin, and cast her gaze downward, looking perplexed. She opened her mouth to answer, but just as she heard footsteps ringing on the bricks behind her, a pair of hands wrapped around her arms and yanked her back, hard enough she could feel the joints in her fingers pop as her grip on Kanzas' hands was broken.

"I'm glad you reminded me, Commander." Biting off her cry of alarm, Shirley saw a short Wingly man step forward next to her, his face drawn into a deep scowl as he looked at Kanzas. Turning slightly, she glanced as well as she could at the one who was holding her back, catching only a glimpse of pale hair and a dark blue coat.

However, Kanzas' face flushed in anger as he stumbled a bit, yanking futilely at his chains. "You!"

"Yes," a male voice said from behind her, low and musical and as bitterly cold as his hands felt on her bare upper arms. "Did we interrupt something important?"

"Bah, I _thought_ that's what you were up to," Halueth spat. "Start moving, right now!" Raising his foot, he planted it hard into the man's side, the kick sending him sprawling to the floor. Unable to catch himself with his hands tied, Kanzas struggled to his knees again, snarling in rage, but the Wingly merely grabbed hold of a large handful of his hair, dragging him upright.

Shirley tried to pull away from the one who held her to go to his aid, but his grip merely tightened around her arms, his fingers pressing hard into her skin and making her wince. "Ah, Human murderer," Commander Arturo said to Kanzas in bland tones, not even paying attention to her. "How glad I am to see you here now. When I learned you had been purchased by Charle Frahma, of all people, I was quite upset. But it seems you can escape justice no longer."

"You just try this 'justice', soldier," he hissed back, recognizing the man as the one who'd captured him. Though he was in dress clothes now instead of uniform, his silver-blue hair loose around his shoulders, there was no mistaking the cold, disdainful look on the Wingly's face.

He received a punch to his gut from Halueth for his words, the blow making him gag momentarily, pitching forward over the older Wingly's arm. Her throat tightening in horror, Shirley once more tried to move to help him, but could barely take a step before being yanked back again. Struggling harder now, she shook her head and cried out, "Stop it!"

"Commander," the foreman said coolly, he too acting as if the young woman didn't exist, "with all respect, we are making Lord Frahma wait. The fight will begin any moment."

"Of course." With a nod to the stocky man, he gave Kanzas a smirk, looking down at him where he now knelt on the floor, gasping for air. "I've been waiting for this. It's more than I hoped, to find you about to face this particular opponent," Arturo informed the russet-haired man.

He spat, laughing sharply. "The dragon? Be disappointed - I'm not afraid of it!"

Arturo's expression went very sour, his glare piercing. Finally seeming to see Shirley, he gave her a little shake, his hands around her upper arms still tight enough to bruise. "She told you, I see. But I doubt you've told your woman all about your crimes, murderer. I'm sure she'll love to find out what you really are as we watch you die. Say goodbye, woman. He'll hear you cheering him on to Mayfil next!"

Kanzas felt himself being yanked to his feet, Halueth dragging him bodily back down the hall, arms hooked around his to spin him around. _Whatever he tells her, she won't believe it, _he reassured himself, though a sliver of doubt still crept into his mind. But no, no - what could he tell her about him that she didn't already know?

"Now, please, do accept my invitation," Arturo mocked, waiting until Halueth and Kanzas had gone before striding off and pulling Shirley after him; he turned abruptly at a crossway in the hall, dragging her toward a small green teleporter pad.

She had to remember to pretend she was a slave, though everything in her was crying out to reach for her hidden dagger and slash him into letting her go. Her expression falling into a scowl, she could only trip after him reluctantly, objecting in a tense, low voice, "Mistress Charle will hear about this!"

"Will she?" the commander drawled, raising his eyebrows. "You see, Human, I don't care about your owner. My loyalties are to Melbu Frahma alone, not his… overly liberal sister. Unlike her, I don't protect filth like that from their fates. I don't expect you to understand something like this."

_I understand destiny better than you think! And I know for sure that you Winglies aren't the masters of it!_ Shirley railed silently, her feet finally touching the teleport pad. Arturo barked a short command, the green orb surrounding them and lifting them upward. When it faded away, a gigantic rush of noise hit her ears, making her automatically raise her free hand to cover one of them.

Thousands of Winglies surrounded them, seated in tiers around a large oval-shaped arena, their voices a crowd's murmured roar of anticipation. The walls arched up toward a cloudy, angry sky, pillars of stone carved with intricate designs, but no rain hit the arena's sands, sparking instead against a shimmering magical shield above. Winglies did not let even the weather affect them, especially here in the capital.

The Wingly soldier stopped to let her take in the impressive sight, and as she looked down over the edge of the first row of stands Shirley saw a group of Humans massed just below, waiting in a kind of walkway that descended underneath the ground. Her eyes flickering quickly, she located Kanzas among them, the chain between his cuffs having been lengthened again to allow him to fight. He glanced up, meeting her gaze with sparks of rage flashing in his own.

Since they'd been distracted, she hadn't had time to ask him what the plan for freeing Taranis was going to be, and she realized now that she still carried his claw, hidden in its sheath beneath a length of cloth she'd draped around her waist. If he was going to have any chance at all of doing what he wanted to, he'd at least need his own weapon back.

Before Arturo could pull her away again, she grabbed for it and flung it toward him, screaming out, "Kanzas!"

The man knocked over another in front of him, lunging for the weapon and just barely catching it with the tips of his fingers. He raised the sheathed claw up triumphantly and cast a smirk in her direction, though it faded immediately as the tall Wingly backhanded Shirley hard across the face, enraged, and then yanked her away past the first row of seats and toward another teleporter.

"I grow tired of you quickly," he bit off, raising his hand again in warning.

Her cheek stung horribly, the pain throbbing up toward her temple as Arturo pulled her along at a fast pace from transporter to transporter until they finally reached the top, nearly the entire arena laid out below them. The seats up here were divided into private boxes for the wealthy, the noise of the crowd faded now; oddly, a large metal rectangle was affixed to the railing of the box, blocking the view somewhat.

Shoving her into a soft, cushioned chair, the commander stood before her, his arms tucked behind him. "Do you know," he asked, calm now, as if lecturing to a class, "why I concern myself with that man?"

Reaching to gently probe the tenderness of her cheekbone, Shirley managed to grit out, "No, I have no idea." He gave her shin a kick, and she finished with a reluctant, "Sir."

"I captured and sold him," Arturo informed her lightly. "I knew this was the best place for him to meet his end, after the crimes he has committed."

"The only crime most slaves commit is being born Human!" she blurted out, feeling herself growing angry. It had become clear to her that this Wingly was trying to turn her against Kanzas, though the sincerity of his hatred was rather off-putting.

He sat down next to her, running fingers through her red hair before grabbing a handful of it, twisting it painfully in his grip. "You are bold, for a slave," he said in a low tone. "I do wonder if you are not all you seem."

"Keep wondering!" Shirley retorted, trying not to pull away as her scalp protested the way he was tugging.

"I captured him," Commander Arturo said darkly, giving her hair another jerk, "in the remains of a home he and his gang of bandits had invaded. Your man had murdered the occupants, Human and Wingly alike. Would you have thrown him the weapon that tore a woman's throat out, that ripped the guts from a small boy? Would you still _conspire_ with that man if you had seen it, woman?"

Not quite sure the tears in her eyes were only from pain, Shirley choked out, "Don't!"

"I shall have to decide what to do with you," he said reflectively, finally letting go with another push, knocking her back against the seat. "You dishonor that seal you wear. Even Charle Frahma would have to agree that you've been behaving very badly in her name."

_Oh, shut up. If you only knew, _she thought madly, squeezing her hands into fists as she stared across the arena toward the other boxes strung around its edge. There was motion in one as someone stood up, and she gasped suddenly, trying to muffle the sound.

The Wingly in the seats at the head of the arena, just around the curve from where she sat, was unmistakable. Years of using the most powerful magic had turned his skin a charcoal gray, his eyes a piercing, unnatural aqua. Several others accompanied him in his box; she noticed with vague horror a Human slave girl standing behind him, wearing a collar around her neck to which a chain was attached. The man gazed down below before raising one hand above his head, and immediately cheers and cries erupted from the crowd.

Shirley froze in shock, all other thoughts flying from her mind momentarily. Melbu Frahma, the leader of the Winglies, was standing right across from her. And, if he died, the absolute power of the Winglies over other species would die as well…

Flicking his fingers in a spell's pattern, Arturo called up an image on the metal rectangle before them. Dragging her gaze toward it, she saw that they were larger pictures of what was happening in the arena below. Upon Frahma's signal, the Human gladiators were being herded out onto the arena sands, cheap short swords shoved into their hands as guards armed with spears pushed them into view.

She found Kanzas among them and bit her lip, trying not to picture him creeping up behind some unsuspecting person, blades jutting from between his fingers as he-

"Now, watch, Human," Arturo said quietly, looking at her once before turning toward the images moving across the sheet of metal. "Watch as fate takes its course."

* * *

Sand crunched underfoot as the group of Human gladiators walked hesitantly into the arena, several of them shoved there by the guards. The sound of excited cheers and screams surrounded them, but there was no enemy in sight. Donar, the lead slave, scanned the area quickly, his hazel eyes widening. "Holy - in the front box! Isn't that Frahma?" he muttered aloud, looking at Kanzas, the only other man standing at the head of the group. "Damn it, that means it's going to be really tough today…" 

_Is he talking to me? _Kanzas thought offhandedly, shifting the sword he'd been given from hand to hand, not planning to use it for much now that he had his claw back. Although Halueth had threatened to keep the chain on his cuffs short, he had finally relented, and therefore he was not worried about anything anymore.

There was a huge transporter set into the middle of the sandy ground, and the crowd hushed as a glowing orb descended onto the pad; their screams erupted again, fear mixed with anticipation, as the light dissipated to reveal Taranis. He was wearing a thick collar around his neck, and no sooner had he arrived than a long chain, studded with magical orbs, shot up from the ground, attaching itself to the collar to hold him down.

Oblivious to the gasps and horrified cries of the slaves behind him, Kanzas could only stare at his vassal dragon, astounded by the change. Had the Winglies done something to him? Taranis was now the size of the full-grown Violet Dragon he'd fought, his spikes grown large and long. Wide, filmy wings flapped hard, blowing sand into their faces, and he threw back a small head, letting out a deep roar and racing for the sky. The chain held fast, springing taut and rebounding the dragon back to the ground.

_I'm here, Taranis! _the man thought strongly against the noise of the spectators, walking forward from the group. The dragon kept thrashing, sparks flying from his mouth and the storm above echoing his pain, lightning crashing down in sheets only to fizzle out against the weather shield protecting the arena.

"My god, what are you doing?" Kanzas heard Donar scream at him. "No Human can fight a dragon and survive!"

"No," he answered back shortly, eyes narrowing as he tried to calm Taranis again, but to no effect. _So I'm going to become one! _He broke into a run, but before he could get more than a few steps there were other flashes of light, a handful of teleport orbs descending. Some of them landed in the middle of the group of gladiators, scattering them as they dropped many small swift dragons into the arena. Affected by the rage and fear Taranis was generating, they immediately turned to attack the Humans around them.

Although at first Kanzas moved in order to avoid the smaller reptiles, aiming only toward his vassal dragon, it soon grew impossible. The creatures moved almost like a swarm, streamlined heads jutting forward as they snapped jaws onto limbs with enough force to break bone, wings flapping as they swung bladed tails at their opponents. An explosion of noise filled his ears, the excited yells of the Wingly onlookers mixed with slaves' screams of terror - and over all there was Taranis, adding to the confusion with his frantic struggling.

Moving quickly to keep up with the rhythmic movements of the red-scaled creature that was barring his way, he used his claw to swipe upward along its stubby neck, keeping the sword in hand only to parry off jabs from the dragon's tail and teeth. The things were very fast, almost streaks of color as they fought the Humans invading their space.

Growling impatiently, Kanzas jumped backward, letting out a curse as his heels hit a crumpled form in the sand, the bloodied body of the slave who had just come in that day. One of the swift dragons was gnawing on the flesh of his thin arm, swallowing pieces with snaps of its jaw, but it immediately reared up, lunging at the man who'd interrupted its meal.

Completing a series of kicks that ended with the audible crack of the little dragon's spine as he smashed its head sideways with his foot, he spun to face the newest one, his own teeth bared in rage. There was electricity in the air, sparks flashing around the metal weapons in his hands as he brought them together in front of his chest. Ducking forward to the dragon's level, he flung his arms out again, a short wave of lightning traveling through it.

Panting from the effort of using his element like that, the russet-haired man jumped back for another strike. However, another sudden movement cut him off as Donar rushed the swift dragon in front of him, he too holding the sword as if used to a different weapon, in front of him with both hands. It impaled the creature through the chest, the dragon letting out a sharp croak as the blade crunched past its scales. "Hey-!" Donar called to him, kicking it off his blade.

Ignoring the other man, Kanzas ran for Taranis again, moving a bit unevenly in the sand. _It's me, _he warned the large dragon as he approached, an angry streak of lightning shooting just past his shoulder. There was another body on the ground here, a gladiator who'd gone for the largest enemy first and had been electrocuted by one of the bolts; dust from the disturbed sand seemed to cloud the area, irritating his lungs.

The violet dragon roared again, but he finally seemed to settle enough that the Dragoon could approach his chain, raising the sword he held high. With all the force he could muster, Kanzas hacked at the chain attached to the dragon's collar, aiming first for the links and then for the small colored orbs set into the metal. Nothing happened but more sparks flying into the air, the cheap sword notching immediately. _Damn it, _he thought angrily, trying to breathe through the dust,_ what now?_

Whipping his head back, Taranis opened his mouth, letting fly with a bolt of lightning. There was a cry of surprise from nearby and then Donar rolled into view, the side of his ragged pants singed from knee to ankle. "What the hell are you doing?" he cried to Kanzas, watching him twist out of the way as the dragon's turquoise eyes fastened on him again. With a yelp, the sandy-haired slave leader ducked back again, ready to slide in under the dragon's leg.

_Just ignore that one, _Kanzas thought to the dragon edgily, biting his lip in surprise as Taranis actually answered him with a wordless thought of agreement. "Why are you here? Go away!" he shouted back, swinging at the chain again in frustration.

"Look at you! You're trying to free it?" he explained, eyes wide. He looked around quickly to spot any more of the small swift dragons, but none of them dared to come closer to the larger, spikier one. "Maybe you're crazy, but I'd rather stand with you; we might actually survive if we worked together-"

Flinging the sword away from him in exasperation, Kanzas narrowed his eyes, watching Donar jump quickly to avoid being hit by the spinning blade. "I don't need allies - I don't need friends - I don't need _you_!"

The other Human didn't answer, his gaze caught by something else and his jaw dropping in astonishment. Looking to see what had stunned him so, Kanzas caught sight of something flying in quickly from the underground entrance, bowling over the Wingly guards that hovered there - no, there were two somethings, greenish mist spilling from them the same as dragons-

And then, his wings opening with a loud snap to stop his flight, a large man in dark-gold armor was above them, a gigantic axe held in his hands. "Can't you do anything right?" Belzac bellowed down to Kanzas before flinging the axe toward him. With a whistle of air, its edge glowing a molten orange, the blade hit the dragon's chain with a _chunk_, snapping the links.

The recoil as Taranis lurched into the air sent the two halves of the chain flying. Kanzas managed to somersault out of the way, but the thick iron smacked Donar hard in the chest, knocking him to the ground. The cries of the spectators changed suddenly, sounding more afraid and wondering now than thrilled.

Disregarding all of that, he rolled to his feet, snarling up at Belzac. His Dragoon form looked much different from Shirley's, his shoulder plates huge and ridged and his armor obviously made for strength, not to allow speed. Damn, but the man _would_ have to be a Dragoon too, wouldn't he? "Keep your mouth shut, Giganto!" he howled, trying to protect his eyes from the flying dust.

_This whole mess has to be your fault, I know it,_ he thought back heatedly. Descending to grab his axe where it was embedded in the soft sand, Belzac looked around the arena ring, searching. He saw Syuveil's green glow up near the form of the thunder dragon, which had flown to the top of the stadium only to find the shield there blocking its escape. "Where's Shirley?" he demanded, eyes widening as he caught sight of a handful of Wingly guards issuing from the underground entrances, wings flickering into being as they rushed toward the center.

_Now! _Kanzas thought as he saw it too, his heart suddenly racing. He hadn't wanted to use his spirit orb until Taranis was free, not knowing how long the transformation would last, but now it was time to see just what this power was all about. "I'll take care of Shirley!" he retorted, raising his arms up in front of him.

A bright purple glow emanated from underneath one of the cuffs on his wrists as he called on the Dragoon Spirit, the light growing to completely envelop him and seeming to eat away the shackles as it went. Turquoise-colored electricity sparked upward from his feet in rings around his body, and Belzac instinctively flew back out of the way to avoid the bolts of lightning crackling outward in every direction, bringing a hand up to shield his face. He could feel his own spirit almost resonating in response, an acceptance of the new Dragoon that the half-Giganto didn't like at all.

The sparks died away, leaving Kanzas hovering there a foot above the sand floor, his large blue-green wings flapping almost lazily. The violet-colored Dragoon armor was neither as sleek as Shirley and Syuveil's nor as massive as Belzac's own; his forearms and shin guards were thickly armored, but his shoulders left bare.

_This is-! This is - I have never-_ he managed silently, unable to complete the thought at all as adrenaline like he'd never felt before coursed through him. The spirit had absorbed the hand-claw, fusing it with the armor itself to create three huge blades sprouting from his knuckles, and the man whipped his hand through the air sharply, letting out an exultant, piercing cry before jetting upwards toward the stormy sky and the weather shield above.

Cursing under his breath at everything in general, Belzac immediately turned his attention to the Wingly guards coming his way, making a noise of relief as Syuveil swooped down to aid him, his spear in his hands almost like the limb of a tree, ornately shaped and carved.

He swung it to point at the approaching soldiers, eyes as green as his armor narrowing behind his spectacles. "None of our transformations will last very long at this point," he said evenly to the larger man. "We shouldn't hold back while we have them."

"Right," he responded, trying to remain as calm as the more experienced Dragoon. Despite how strangely natural it felt to be able to fly now, Belzac was still unsure of the magic he could now command, or, more specifically, of his ability to use it. This was the first time he'd worn his armor to fight, but he had to trust in its strength, in what the Golden Dragon had told him before he'd struck the final blow…

The Wingly guards were fanning out in a circle around the two Dragoons, trying to surround them, yet it was clear they were wary, holding back a bit against these curious new foes. Syuveil too drew back, but swirls of energy were gathering around his green and black figure, intensifying the wind before growing into larger echoes of wings behind him. "Wing Blaster!" his slightly-accented voice cried out loudly as, flipping his spear to hold horizontally in both hands, he dived hard through the ranks facing him, shearing them with the power that surrounded him.

Choking in a lungful of gritty air, Belzac followed his friend's example, swinging his axe above his head before the stunned soldiers could react. He wasn't conscious of what he was doing, not in the sense that he was telling himself how to call upon the earth power; in fact, his Dragoon Spirit seemed to be shifting his limbs for him, forcing his lips to move.

"Grand… Stream!" he bellowed, bringing the half-moon blade down into the sand below with a grunt. A great wave of earth moved like the ocean outward from that point as he tugged it free, rising up to swallow both Winglies and corpses of gladiators in its torrent and slamming them to the ground to bury them underneath the arena.

For one moment, there was dead silence from the spectators, who had just seen what was apparently a Giganto and a Human doing magic. Belzac wasn't even able to move, his mouth open, his breath coming harshly and fast. He felt oddly drained, as if he'd just lost part of something he hadn't known he'd possessed, and no matter how hard he concentrated he couldn't summon the strength to do that again. But he _wanted_ to - he wanted to make the earth roar again and drag this entire vile place below.

Up above, Taranis suddenly snarled in rage and opened his mouth wide to shoot down a streak of lightning, which hit the stands. Chaos erupted instantaneously, the onlookers screaming and scrambling for the teleporters, paying no attention as first Belzac and then Syuveil lost their energy, wings and armor shimmering away in a bright flash of light. Only a few remained to watch what would happen as fresh guards flew forward tentatively to face them, led by Halueth the foreman.

And, in his box at the head of the arena, high above the proceedings, Melbu Frahma stood and stared intently downward, his lips pressed together tightly, his glacier eyes betraying nothing.


	6. Chapter Six

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter Six

Shirley simply could not move, eyes wide and staring at the images below. So much had happened in so short a time that she couldn't quite comprehend it all. Somehow, her mind was refusing to believe that Belzac and Syuveil were here now, fighting down below - but the Dragoon Spirit she wore beneath her shirt reminded her insistently, thrumming against her chest as if in joy, having recognized the birth of two more of its kind.

She started to move her hand toward it, but stopped, feeling Arturo's glare upon her. The Wingly was staring at her, gauging her reaction to the events, and although he was trying to appear indifferent she could tell that he was upset by what Kanzas and the others had managed to do.

However, motion from below dragged Arturo's attention away from her, his teeth clenching as he watched. The stands surrounding the arena were almost exploding, a line of debris shooting up into the air. The magical view displayed on the box rail magnified it to their eyes; Shirley choked back a cry as she saw a figure tearing a path through the remaining spectators, who were fighting to get to the teleporters or for the chance to use their own magic. It was almost as if he didn't notice they were there - almost, but for the twisted grin he wore.

Those who tried to fly upward were turned on by Taranis, still circling near the weather shield covering the arena. Shimmering wings fluttered and then died away as the Winglies panicked and were cut down, the violet-armored Dragoon still ripping past, claws and shiny armor flashing in the light from the storm above. Sprays of blood and flesh flew behind him as he went on, heeding nothing.

With a soft buzzing noise Arturo let his own wings loose, the air tingling with the energy he released as he rose upward. Shirley flinched back, startled, as he touched his forehead and traced a sigil in the air, the symbol painted in light almost seeming to hang there a moment before fading. The red and black orbs that descended around Kanzas stopped his mad flight, dark rain falling down to pelt him, the shadows filling the air around him momentarily.

When it faded away his head snapped up, and the Human immediately flew straight upward toward the box, his wings flapping strong gusts of air into Shirley and Arturo's faces. "Do it again, I'm used to it!" he snarled at the Wingly, his voice sounding as if it was tearing itself from his throat. "And I can cast magic now too!"

Ruby eyes widening just so slightly at that, the Wingly commander immediately reached for the woman in the seat next to him, dragging her roughly toward him; she hissed as the arm of the chair bit into her side when he pulled her over it. "Then aim well!" Arturo retorted with an angry frown.

Kanzas paused, though she had been half-sure he wouldn't, and with her own scowl on her face Shirley reached slowly for her waist, fingertips sliding under the cloth around her hips and catching hold of the hilt of her dagger. Arturo realized what she was doing just in time and turned his face as her hand flew upward, the blade nicking a thin line along his temple. She wrenched her arm from his grip as he recoiled, pushing off him and stumbling backward toward the banister of the box, calling upon her Dragoon Spirit.

The pillar of light descended, enfolding her in her silvery-white armor. The dagger in her hand was caught in the transformation and grew larger and more ornate, the blade shimmering brightly in the glow. Flipping backward over the rail, her foot knocking the metal screen from its spot, she felt the jolt as her wings stretched out to catch her, green mist spraying momentarily.

Rising back up, she glared at the Wingly man, though she couldn't find anything to say to him. "Be careful, Kanzas," she finally remarked without looking away, raising her weapon in front of her, the blade held at right angles to her chest. "You're still a new Dragoon. Don't let it get to your head."

He gave her a glance, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. _What does she know? I feel like I've done this my whole life. _"Just watch this, Shirley!"

He held out his arm, fist clenched, and sparks began to crackle around the spiky gauntlet, mirrored by the electric glow that was spreading across the ground underneath Arturo's hovering feet. He raised his fist up to his face, the lightning growing around his hand as it also shot up into a pillar around the blue-silver-haired man, bolts crashing down from above. "Atomic Mind!" he yelled out; the normally undemonstrative Wingly's cry of pain and disbelief made him grin ferally when the magic had died away.

His glee, however, was cut short by the feeling of energy draining away from him, the power's wildness fading from his veins. He didn't even have to see Shirley's worried look to know it was there, to realize that at any time now he would lose his armor, his wings.

As Arturo straightened, shaking away the spell's effects but not the damage it had caused, Kanzas made a quick decision. It was never good to try to fight a Wingly in the open, as they could easily fly up out of reach and attack relentlessly from above with their magic, but he didn't have much of a choice.

Lunging forward with his feet in a kind of aerial slide, Kanzas kicked the commander's legs out from under him, shoving him back into the wall with the force of the charge. Though he had been flying and could not truly fall, the move knocked him senseless, allowing the Human to grab hold of his arm and launch him over the railing, gravity pulling him down afterward toward the arena.

Shirley held her breath as she saw the bright flash of the thunder armor dissipating in mid-fall, but released it explosively as Kanzas landed ungracefully yet upright next to Arturo, who had hit the sand hard and was still stunned. She knew he wouldn't like her to interfere with this coming fight; it was quite apparent that there was unfinished business between the two, no matter how irate she was about being hit and hauled around like a sack.

Trusting Kanzas - for now - to take care of the Wingly, she looked toward Belzac and Syuveil. They too seemed to have matters in hand, rebuilding their stores of spirit energy as they fought the few remaining guards who were attacking them. _You did it!_ she thought at her friends, overjoyed to see them even from this distance.

However, something else remained to delay the reunion. Clenching both armored hands around her dagger's newly-ornamental hilt, Shirley turned slightly in the air, brown eyes focusing on the front box. Melbu Frahma didn't seem to be paying attention to her, watching the men below instead. The others accompanying him had drawn back a bit, but also remained, clearly aghast at what had happened.

Once more readjusting her grip, she bit hard on the inside of her cheek and made a decision.

* * *

His hand pressed against his aching head, Commander Arturo rose to his feet, his wings sprouting once more from his back, his dark blue velvet coat now dusty and ragged and his hair sticking to his face and neck. As his feet left the sand, he stared at the Human standing a few feet away, blinking at him before scowling again. "It… was a mistake," he said slowly, feeling a damp trickle of blood hit his fingers from where the woman had slashed at him. 

"Yeah?" Kanzas replied, uninterested. "What was? Being born?" He stretched his arms briefly, the stained metal of the claw blades catching the glare of the lightning above and gleaming dully as if in promise.

Ignoring the taunt, the Wingly slowly lowered his hands before him. "You," he answered hoarsely. "I should have known better than to let a murderer live. If I had even dreamed you could do something like this-"

Rolling his eyes, he cut in with, "Whatever. I saw you hit Shirley, so she won't even mind when I kill you too."

He brushed that off as well, mind racing to come up with a plan. From here, the destruction of the stands and spectators was even more apparent; of less concern to him were the bodies of the ill-fated Human slaves also scattered around the arena at this end where that Giganto's strange magic hadn't buried them.

How had all this come from such a routine battle? The dragon flew free, still battering itself uselessly against the weather shield, the woman still hovered above in that unfathomable armor, and though he didn't dare to look, he knew his lord was still watching the events unfold from his box high above - watching _him_.

And it had been such a _good_ day.

Arturo's jaw clenched in anger, his fingers twitching toward the pattern of a spell even as the man drew into an attack stance, ready to charge. And then there was the metallic swish of a sword being swiped though the air as a soldier came up next to his commander; he was young and in civilian clothes, his eyes wide at the sight of all the damage and the dragon flying above, but he began bravely, "Sir, let me help you! They can't be real Humans-"

"No," he said quickly, holding out his arm to bar his way. "No. They are just Humans getting above themselves. I will take care of this one. I tracked him and his bandits in the Southlands, so I must see this through to its end." And perhaps defeating Kanzas would help excuse to Frahma the fact that he'd let the man escape death once before. "You go help the wounded."

The soldier looked unsure even as he automatically moved to obey, glancing around the arena. "Sir, but the other Humans, they've killed the foreman and almost all the guards, and that was _after_ they were in that flying armor!"

"Oh, just come on!" Kanzas yelled at them suddenly. "Don't float around talking about it! I don't have time for you! Hurry up!"

Arturo was starting to lose his cool, and it wasn't a feeling he enjoyed much. Gesturing dismissively at his subordinate, he snarled, "Go! It was my error, so it is my fate now to execute him!" He focused on his opponent, eyes thinning to slits as the soldier jerked in surprise and quickly flew off toward the torn-up seats, and raised his hand, tracing a sigil in the air. "Enough of this!"

_It's about time,_ the russet-haired man thought derisively, not waiting another moment. However, a thought struck him, and instead of attacking he crossed his wrists before him in a guard position. The arm-blocking spell flowed around him, unable to catch hold, and with great satisfaction he knew that he'd anticipated the Wingly's first move correctly. "Can't get me twice with that," Kanzas informed him, looking up darkly. "Fight me for real, coward!"

Opening his mouth to reply, Arturo shut it with a snap as the man jumped forward, slashing for his neck. There was a ripping noise as the blade points tore through the fabric of his coat at his shoulder, but he was in the air a moment later, avoiding most of the strike. "No, I will see you die here," he murmured softly.

Kanzas cursed to himself, every muscle tensed, his body ready to jerk this way or that to avoid the magic aimed at him. Though he'd tried to keep him from taking to the air again, this was nigh-impossible. Arturo had not brought a weapon with him to the arena and was instead relying on his magic from a distance, thus attacking while avoiding the blades of the claws completely. He'd hoped his challenge would get him to fight closer, but despite the Wingly's anger, it hadn't worked.

Unable to score a hit and thus unable to transform again, Kanzas too was growing angrier. This constant barrage of magic was really grating on his nerves. Although he had indeed gotten used to being hurt with spells over the years, the pain it invoked was more than just physical, and he was starting to wear down despite his fury.

Arturo, on the other hand, was naturally accustomed to flying; he was able to dodge each blow, even if by just inches, and was growing smug as he realized his advantage. "Fool!" he taunted, twisting down from above into a dive, driving his feet into Kanzas' back and kicking him forward.

He hit the ground hard on his side, dust spraying upward as he slid a short way before somersaulting back upward, the skin of his arm scraped and sticky with bloodied sand. _If he'd just stay near the ground!_ he thought, enraged. _I'd tear his damned face off!_

"What of that miraculous armor?" the Wingly inquired, brushing silvery-blue bangs from his face with the back of his hand. "Can't use it anymore? I think, Human, that your luck has run out. You just weren't meant to exist."

"Because I fight?" He could feel his shoulders shaking, but from anger or hilarity he wasn't certain. Winglies were always pointing out that Soa created Humans to be peaceful workers of the land, that they needed guidance and protection - that they and other species were preordained to be slaves. Finally, he straightened, glaring at the man flying above him, just out of reach. And, higher above, echoed by the thunderstorm beyond the weather shield- "Guess what? I'm not a Human, I'm a dragon!"

Arturo chuckled humorlessly, a ball of darkness forming in his open palm. Turning slightly, he threw it at the man below, watching him stagger backward when it hit, teeth clenched. "Preposterous," he said in a cool tone, his confidence clear in his posture. "They're stupid beasts, just like you. Dragon, Human, you will find yourself in Mayfil all the same-"

Kanzas threw back his head, his sudden scream cutting off the commander's words, his mental call intensifying the cry. "_Taranis_!"

Taken aback, the Wingly raised his arms automatically in defense, wondering what he meant by that. And then there was a crackling noise, his longish hair rising up to halo his head, and Arturo felt a presence looming behind and above him. He spun in the air to face a reptilian stare, eyes like bits of turquoise narrowing before the violet dragon's mouth opened wide, nearly splitting its small head in half as a thick beam of electricity burst from the darkness of its throat.

The bundle of lightning bolts crashed into him; he could feel his heart's beat lurch and waver at the shock as he was driven hard into the ground, knocking all the breath out of his lungs. Ruby irises contracted nearly to nothing as he pushed himself upward, panting for air but knowing that, no matter what, he had to get up again. The man couldn't have called the dragon - couldn't have…

Kanzas was running as Arturo's wings appeared again, as the soldier began to rise into the air once more; snarling, he flung himself forward and upward, driving the claw deep into his shoulder and dragging it with him as he pivoted upward, his hand sliding around the weapon's grip.

He lost hold of the claw as he went over the Wingly's back, the blades having wedged into bone, and Arturo cried out in pain, his boots hitting the ground and his legs crumpling beneath him as the Human twisted, trying to land upright and failing. Scrambling into a crouch, he forced his tired muscles to move, charging at the slumped figure and knocking him face-first into the arena sand.

"You believe in destiny, soldier?" he gritted out, bracing his knee on the Wingly's back and yanking his claw from the shoulderblade roughly. Arturo's yell was disappointingly muffled, his body jerking involuntarily, blood welling up to stain the darkened rich fabric of his jacket. "I imagine now you'll have to believe that you were born just so I could kill you."

Just for spite, Kanzas drove the blades down into the wound again, tearing them upward and back out with a fine spray of fluid; he could feel warmth against his wrist as his spirit orb absorbed the man's energy, and a different warmth spattering against his arms and chest as a cut artery spurted blood with every heartbeat.

"I - will not believe-" he spat as loudly as he could, the words interrupted by a wracking cough.

"And there's this, too: you aren't important," the Dragoon informed him almost cheerily, leaning more weight onto his back. "You're just one more body. And because you let me live, all the other Winglies will die too." He sucked some blood and sand from one of the scrapes on his arm and spat it to the side, wiping more of it across his cheek as he swiped sweat away. "I think I might _like_ this fate thing after all."

His hand caught under his chest, Arturo's fingers moved slightly. It was funny, now that he realized it, how he was suddenly thinking of his family when he hadn't given them much thought before. His wife, his daughter - what was her name? Yes, Meruline… would he see them soon? Or would he first see-

Darkness descended, pitch-blackness surrounding them, and Kanzas lurched backward off the Wingly's body, staring upward at the sudden brightness of the moon fixed in the sky. It was as if the world had suddenly fallen away, leaving nothingness. _No, _he realized with a sinking feeling, _there's something here…_

And then the swipes began, claw-strikes from the darkness coming from all sides, knocking him back and forth; he couldn't see where they were coming from, his head spinning from the pain. Finally, he fell to his knees in exhaustion, but before the darkness faded there was brightness from above, a flash of light arcing across the sky and piercing the spell's effects.

Kanzas toppled backwards, hitting the sand hard on his back, amber eyes wide as he stared upward, unable to move as he watched Shirley streaking across the arena toward the front box, dagger glittering in her hand…

* * *

The wind rushed by, battering her ears with noise as she flew, her entire body tensed, poised for a strike. Her mind was several minutes behind her, still not prepared to accept what she was doing. Faster, faster, the blade braced outward as she shot toward Melbu Frahma, so concerned with the fights down below that he didn't - even - look - up- 

Shirley felt it as her long dagger pierced into soft, unresisting flesh, letting out a cry of agitation that quickly turned into one of horror as her thoughts caught up with her, as she saw that she had driven her blade deeply into the chest of the Human slave girl accompanying the Wingly leader. _She took the blow! She stepped forward - she - why did she-?_ the woman thought, terrified. She let go of the dagger as if it burned her, leaving it embedded within her heart, holding up her hands as the dark-haired child's lips trembled, eyes huge and uncomprehending and strangely familiar.

The chain attached to her collar tightened as she keeled forward, and the charcoal-skinned Wingly looked upward slowly, letting go of his slave's leash. Those icy eyes met Shirley's, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. "You have failed," Frahma said, his deep voice seeming to surround her, "Dragoon of Vellweb." He raised his hand.

Suddenly, everything seemed to be moving backward at a tremendous speed; the Wingly leader's magic rammed into her as if she'd just hit a wall, and a moment later she _did_ hit the wall, smacking hard against the opposite row of boxes on the other side of the arena.

There was an explosion of grayish brick, debris scattering outward, and a brief flash of white light as she fell to the floor of the balcony, drifting in and out of consciousness. Another wave of power flew from Frahma's box, destroying the one she'd landed in, and amidst the chunks of stone a limp form fell toward the ground, red hair flaring upward around her pale face.

"No!" Belzac bellowed; he was moving instantly over the corpses of guards and flying into the air almost before his armor could form around him once more. He hadn't understood why she had just been hovering up there while he, Syuveil and Kanzas fought below, and he still couldn't believe what she had just tried to do.

The half-Giganto was not made for speed, but he raced forward desperately, his free armored hand shooting out to grab Shirley's wrist mere moments before she impacted against the stands below. He heard a popping noise from her shoulder as the jolt dislocated it, and his face twisted in agony as he flew higher, pulling her up into his arms. _Damn it! I'm so sorry!_ he apologized silently, pulling back behind some rubble where benches had been torn up, hoping to avoid Frahma's notice as he looked around to judge the situation.

Syuveil hadn't reacted quite as quickly, but he too had gone back into his Dragoon form and was now over near Kanzas, speaking to him urgently. Belzac had thought Kanzas had lost against that Wingly he was fighting after the darkness spell had engulfed him, but apparently not; he watched, blinking, as the russet-haired man slowly got up again and communicated with his vassal dragon, which changed directions in mid-flight and reared back as if to attack.

He wished he knew what Syuveil's plan was. If the violet dragon hadn't been able to get past the weather shield before - and that certainly wasn't for lack of trying - how in the world did he think they were going to escape now?

However, the energy Taranis shot now was aimed in a tight beam at the wall of the arena itself, near the top of the wall where it curved inward. This time, the electrical blast had the desired affect, spraying chunks of stone and disturbing the seal. Slowly, the crackling veins of magical energy died away, the shield above flickering and dying. Immediately, rain poured down into the arena, hard and driving, and the lightning above flashed with instant booms of thunder as the dragon joyfully streaked upward into the storm its own rage had summoned.

_Count on Syuveil to know the answer! _Grinning, the large Dragoon stood, his wings flaring as he prepared to leave their hiding spot. Water droplets pattered hard against his armor, sending a fine spray rebounding into his face.

However, the feeling of energy in the air wiped the smile from his face, and he quickly folded his wings forward to shield Shirley, turning his body as Frahma shot another wave of magic effortlessly, whipping it through the air toward them; with his other hand, the Wingly leader aimed the same toward the other two. The rain did not touch him, fizzling into steam before it could hit his odd gray-colored skin.

A feeling of paralysis ran up and down the Dragoon's spine, and Belzac had to fight to keep from dropping his unconscious friend, to stay up on his feet. He had never been able to tolerate magic very well, but he thought of Shirley and flung himself into the air, racing to join the others, both of whom were also aiming toward the sky.

More bolts of energy flew past them as they went; though he'd managed to transform once more, Kanzas was barely able to hold up his head, and he didn't protest as Syuveil dragged him along by the arm, his own face drawn with pain, the rain on his glasses obscuring his vision. And yet they went on, moving directly into the storm and through it, fleeing Kadessa with as much energy as they could muster.

_Come on, _Kanzas thought wearily to Taranis, who was visible only as a shimmer of scales amidst the lightning strikes. He smiled slightly at the feeling of exultation the dragon projected back toward him, glancing down only once toward the arena as they passed through the dark clouds, quickly leaving the city behind. Somehow, he had the feeling they were being allowed to escape.

That had been way too easy.

* * *

"Okay. There, okay. It's okay now." 

"Are you sure? I can't believe I-"

"Really. It's fine now."

Exhaling gently, Shirley turned her head, her eyes staying closed. She certainly didn't _feel_ fine; there was an ache in her shoulder that protested movement of any kind, while half her body felt warm and the other half chilled. Still, she recognized those voices and, familiar as they were, they made her lips curve gently into a smile before she finally looked up.

The sky above was gray and thick with clouds, framed by the bright golden yellow of tree leaves. She was lying on the ground next to a small fire, and occasionally the leaves would drift downward on the gentle breeze to land in the blaze, becoming small pungent wisps of smoke. The appetizing smell of cooking meat filled the air. It was so calm and peaceful, and such a change from what had come before, that she wanted to lie there for a moment just breathing.

And then she remembered.

_'You have failed, Dragoon of Vellweb.'_

Interposing itself in front of the swaying leaves, the face of a child swam into her vision, dark eyes huge and pleading, lips trembling, and the hilt of the dagger in Shirley's hand-

_'Dragoon of Vellweb-'_

"No!" the woman screamed out, sitting up abruptly. _Why did I do that? Why did I do that? They're going to kill everyone!_

Momentarily, however, someone else appeared, chasing the memory from view. "Shirley?" Belzac began worriedly, fine brows knit together to crease his broad face. A saffron bandana covered his hair, tied at the nape of his neck, and for a moment she could only blink at him in bewilderment, as if she couldn't even recognize him. "Are you all right?"

Unthinkingly, she scrubbed her hands on her skirt, not paying attention to the pain from her shoulder or the three sets of eyes suddenly staring at her. She looked from Belzac to Syuveil and Kanzas, who were sitting on the other side of the fire, barely seeming to acknowledge them. "Why are we here? We have to get home!"

"Hey," the half-Giganto tried to soothe, reaching out as if to help her stand. She was acting strangely, and it scared him a little; only a few times before had she ever been so frantic. This wasn't quite the reunion he'd been looking forward to this past week.

Shaking her head, she looked at him again pleadingly before letting out a shriek at a rustle from the trees. Her vassal dragon was stretching her neck between trunks, lowering her head to look at her Dragoon with what could only be interpreted as worry.

Belzac ducked down, asking carefully, "What's wrong?"

Dragging in a deep breath, Shirley curled forward over her legs, her hands shaking helplessly and her left arm throbbing pain with each heartbeat. She didn't want to have to face his concern, or even Eremi's, feeling guilt rise up like waves from the pit of her stomach. "Frahma knows!" she cried out from between her crossed arms. "I shouldn't have - it's my fault! He knows we're Dragoons, we're from Vellweb and he's going to kill everyone!"

Silence descended, as Belzac was unable to find any way to reply to this despite the way his heart was aching for her pain. No one else seemed able to react either, though Kanzas' silence wasn't much of a surprise, as he hadn't spoken since they'd left Kadessa hours earlier. Now he was just sitting there, eating the undercooked meat of a forest runner with the quick efficiency of someone who regarded meals as an annoying requirement for staying alive.

_Huh,_ Belzac thought balefully, adjusting his balance as he remained crouched, _so much for him taking care of her…_

"Just a moment," Syuveil declared, speaking up and startling Shirley into raising her head. "Did you _tell_ Frahma you were a Dragoon? That you came from Vellweb?"

"No," she answered miserably, still avoiding her friends' gazes. "He just… said it to me."

Nodding, he leaned forward where he sat, resting his elbows on his knees, brown bangs trailing into his eyes. "It can't be your fault, then," he explained logically. "He knew beforehand. Someone - a spy, or worse, a traitor - informed him. There's really nothing you could have done."

"We'll be going back to Vellweb soon," Belzac added, giving the Jade Dragoon a look of gratitude, "and with the dragons we'll get there faster than any kind of army could."

She sighed, but nodded slowly, accepting the explanation. Syuveil's calmness was infectious, making her breathe a bit easier. Eremi nudged her insistently with her snout, and she reached up to pat the dragon's pearly scales absently. "But," she protested anyway, her voice soft, "what we did today in the arena probably started the war. Because I… I…"

"You tried to assassinate Melbu Frahma," Kanzas put in. He'd nearly lost his voice, but it rang out clearly enough; Shirley winced at hearing it said aloud. He tossed wing bones into the fire, wiping his hands on tattered black pantlegs. "Let's not dance around the issue. And before you start yelling at me," he went on, giving Belzac a cool look as he opened his mouth, "even if she hadn't, me rescuing Taranis would have been more than enough of an excuse to start a war."

"So you're going to take responsibility for this?" he retorted skeptically, rising to his feet and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

He gave a thin, unpleasant smile in return. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Kanzas rasped, coughing to try to clear his sore throat. "After all, Diaz can hardly be responsible for what I do. Let me take the blame to save your Gloriano-"

Shirley waved her hand emphatically, rising up higher on her knees. "I won't allow it!" All three of them gave her startled looks, and she lifted her chin defiantly. "No one made me - do what I did. And Kanzas didn't force me to go with him," she explained, looking particularly at Belzac and seeing a hardness forming in his pale eyes. "In fact, he tried to go without me. So let's not pass around blame," she sighed, "and just figure out what to do next."

"Wise words, Shirley," Syuveil told her, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose.

Kanzas shrugged, leaning back against a huge protruding root of the ancient tree he sat beneath. He had no energy whatsoever now, not even for arguing. "Whatever you say," he muttered dismissively.

"Agreed," Belzac said gruffly, bending to give Shirley a hand up as she struggled to stand.

Wincing as she rocked on her feet, she bit back a cry of pain and asked, "What happened to my arm?"

"It happened after you fell," he answered slowly, his tanned skin flushing suddenly. "Your shoulder dislocated. Syuveil reset it, but you still ought to heal yourself, else…"

Shirley nodded, her eyes catching on the trees around them, large enough that Eremi could sit upright and still be shaded by their bright autumn leaves. Her dragon must have joined them as they'd passed, since this didn't look much like the farmland they'd left her in. "Where are we, anyway? It's nowhere near Kadessa - or Gloriano, for that matter."

"Once we caught up with our vassal dragons," Syuveil clarified, "we were able to fly quite a distance and avoid pursuit. We are in the east now. Seilnder province, actually."

Now that she had the presence of mind to notice, she could see that everyone looked as if they'd been drenched earlier, her own hair also falling stringily around her face where it had dried oddly. They must have passed through the rain, and she'd never even noticed. "All the way there?" she blurted, taken aback.

"You were out for a long time," Belzac told her sheepishly, sure it was in some part thanks to him. _But it's better than dying. _"Shock, I think."

Maybe she was still in shock. She'd killed a child - it was too horrible to tell him, too painful to affirm aloud. She hadn't meant to do it, not at all, but…

"You really should mend yourself, Shirley," he repeated when she didn't answer, gesturing to the dark purple bruises visible beneath her now rather ragged shirt sleeve. "We're out of healing potions, and you look pale. None of our Dragoon Spirits will heal, either."

Instead of answering, she turned to hug him tightly with her good arm, pressing her face against his chest and feeling him tense in surprise before his arms went around her. "I should have gone with you," she told him, muffled by his vest and the bronze-plated armor beneath it. It was warm here with him, holding off the chill she could feel standing away from the fire. "I knew you were a Dragoon, Belzac, I knew it."

"Well," he laughed softly, forcing himself not to even glance over at Kanzas, whose glaring eyes felt like they were boring into his back, "you were never wrong before. And Syuveil was there, so it's all right." _I had to see if I could do without you, though I don't think I like what the answer was. _

He had sworn to serve Lord Diaz, to serve him no matter if he was a Dragoon or not. Now, though, he didn't have to worry about being left behind, of having to battle on the ground while Shirley fought above. Now he didn't have to let her go again.

"Even so," she protested weakly. "But, tell me about your challenge," the red-haired woman requested, standing back enough to look up into his eyes.

"It wasn't so hard," Belzac told her, searching for the words. He wasn't quite sure how to describe the wind-blasted desert, the way the dust stung his skin, or the deep caverns hidden beneath the baked sand, cooled by underground rivers. But the Death Frontier had touched him in some way, whether he could voice it or not. "Even its dragon magic didn't hurt too badly, since it was earth and all. It might've been different for Syuveil, though…"

As they turned to him, the scholar shrugged and smiled, commenting, "It was an even trade. I could hurt it as much as it could me."

"More, I'd think." Belzac grinned back before looking down toward Shirley again. "I even got used to dragons on the way back to Vellweb, having Gleam along. It was amazing; by the time we got to you, he was full-grown, but Syuveil says that's natural when they're reborn like that."

"Your vassal dragon?" she asked, automatically searching the surrounding forest for a sign of it. "Where-?"

The half-Giganto reached to scratch at the back of his head, absently adjusting the ties of his bandana. "Mm," he began, "well, when we made camp, they weren't all getting along too well, so I told him to just go off into the woods for a bit."

He'd gotten used to his presence, all right, but not his new ability to talk to the young golden dragon. Though he'd tried requesting it like Shirley said she did with Eremi, Gleam was quite stubborn and would only listen once he'd mentally 'shouted'. It was the fault of that dragon of Kanzas', of course - even Syuveil's Tsavor, who was normally quite patient for a dragon, had joined in the brief confrontation.

Shirley didn't answer to that at first, knowing that the vassal dragons tended to take cues from their Dragoons when they weren't sure how to react. That was the problem with dragons: they were horribly powerful, but they felt more than thought, and the smaller species especially verged on outright stupidity. The combining of Human intellect with the big lizards' raw strength would give them an edge in their struggle, but its side-effects could cause a lot of trouble. "I'm sure they'll learn to get along," she said pointedly, "if we give them a good example."

"Right," Belzac answered reluctantly, chewing a little on his lip. "_I'll _try." He gave the word a particular emphasis, more of his meaning left unspoken than not.

Though Kanzas had been sitting back against the tree with half-lidded eyes, as if falling asleep, he was still listening, and had been expecting a comment like that from Shirley eventually. Taranis was nearby, staying close to him as he rested, half-protective and half for protection.

He'd found out the fast growth was natural, but what the Winglies had done while holding the spiky violet dragon captive surely wasn't. _I'd be surprised if I can get him to tolerate even Shirley,_ he thought, making an aggravated noise in his throat but not bothering to work up the energy to protest. What point would there be trying to explain it, anyway?

Feeling her shiver, Belzac drew Shirley closer to the fire. He noticed how Syuveil was consciously ignoring them, as if to give them some sliver of privacy, busying himself with turning the small spits of skewered forest runner meat. He appreciated it, even if it was embarrassing to know that someone else recognized his feelings. "Besides Kadessa, Shirley," the large man began curiously, happy to simply be with his friend again like this, "how did your journey go?"

She froze, the question forcing to her actually think about the past week. Little flashes of images popped up in her head, reminding her insistently of tallies on musty paper, a tiny doll and the smell of blood, dangling corpses spraying skin and lips pressed against her own.

Jerking her gaze away from Belzac's familiar expression, she glanced half over her shoulder and then stopped when she knew what she'd see there. No, these things could not be forgotten; Kanzas wouldn't let her forget. There was enough pain right now that she wanted to, despite that.

"It went all right," Shirley answered, looking back up and giving him a smile that felt as unnatural as it looked.

"You were never a good liar," he murmured in return. "What's the matter?"

Shaking her head and smacking her cheeks with her stringy hair, she reached up to her sore shoulder, feeling the pain spike as her fingers put pressure on it. "Nothing," she protested, "just not feeling too well yet." Quickly changing the subject, she demanded gently, "Belzac - you two had time to take Shynn to the Blue Sea Dragon, didn't you?"

It was his turn to look uneasy now. Syuveil looked up sharply upon hearing her words as well, and they exchanged wary glances before the Jade Dragoon nodded once. "Ye-s," the half-Giganto drew out slowly, "we did, in fact."

"So," she pressed, "why didn't he come with you?" Her heart suddenly lurched, and she reached to twist Belzac's brown and burgundy vest in one hand. "Tell me he didn't _lose_-"

Syuveil shook his head this time, shifting in his seat on a fallen log with repressed agitation. "No," he told her, "he didn't lose. Not as such."

Clearing his throat, Belzac added, "At first, everything was fine. We were on a small island, and the Blue Sea Dragon answered the challenge, came up from the sea. I assisted Shynn in the fight. But, partway through…"

"It said that it didn't accept Shynn as a Dragoon," the other man finished, pressing his fist against his lips as the fire crackled to fill the silence.

Shirley nodded slowly and let go of Belzac's vest, knowing that this statement had meant death for three candidates before. When a dragon didn't accept the Human fighting it, didn't want to become that person's sacrifice, it truly began fighting for its life.

_We'll have to find another for water somehow, and quickly,_ she thought, though she didn't say it; it wasn't something Syuveil probably needed to hear at this point. It wasn't that she didn't like Shynn, but he was so cold and withdrawn that it had been hard to get to know him at all. "But at least he escaped all right, didn't he? Shynn must have been so disappointed."

"Oh, he was. But, the thing is," Belzac explained, "well, he _did_ defeat the dragon, killed it. I - extracted the spirit from it, though the dragon didn't, well, give it to us like mine had." He tried not to wince at the memory of the gaping golden eyeball, the chilliness of disapproval pouring from the dying sea dragon like waves as he shoved his hand into its head. "It doesn't glow. It doesn't do anything."

"We just have to find its right bearer," she said finally, frowning at the morose expression on Syuveil's face. To give him hope, she appended, "Or perhaps the spirit will grow to accept him. The Blue Sea Dragon was the most reluctant to agree to this course of action, anyway."

"Yes," Syuveil agreed with false brightness, "sea dragons have always had fewer difficulties with Winglies because they're harder to find."

"Shynn still has the spirit," Belzac said thoughtfully. "I really don't know if he'd… let us have it, just yet. In any event, he's in Vellweb, so maybe you can speak to him when we get there, Shirley. We left again quickly after returning, once we heard about you being in Kadessa."

Smiling weakly at that, she nodded her understanding and asked, "How did you know, anyway?"

Leaning forward to pull the small spits of meat from the fire, Syuveil rolled his green eyes and replied, "We found out thanks to Fara. She was - taunting us about it, 'criminals get what they deserve' or some rot. Lord Diaz allowed us to leave right away and assist you."

"So, he does know about it," she whispered to herself. "He was willing to take the blame all along for… what we started there."

"It's Lord Diaz." Belzac shrugged, raising his eyebrows. "Why does it surprise you? He'd never leave his Dragoon to the Winglies." He put his hand on her shoulder, instantly jerking it away at her hiss of pain. "Shirley!" he gasped, shocked. "Come on, we've talked too much. Heal yourself, _please_."

The woman sighed slowly, not sure why she was so reluctant to take up her spirit orb again. Its weight usually felt so comforting around her neck, but now it seemed that its light might burn her. "Is-is everyone else all right?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes, we're fine, but you should see to Kanzas," Syuveil said in a quiet voice, waving a hand back over his shoulder at where the man was sitting. "He has wounds, and we ran out of healing potions in the arena, as Belzac said."

Taking a breath and nodding again, she moved past him, aiming toward the figure propped against the enormous tree, sitting between thick winding roots as if he was a piece of the scenery itself. Though she thought he'd been asleep, his eyes flashed open the moment she got near; a moment later Taranis let out a growl from deep in his throat. Shirley stopped where she was, looking up warily at the silhouette of the dragon just beyond the trunk. "What is he afraid of?" she asked, almost casually. "He is a dragon, after all."

_Leave her alone now, _Kanzas thought to the large reptile, getting his reluctant agreement in return. _She won't do anything. _"Winglies," he said flatly in answer, coughing a little. "You don't have to worry about him."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." Feeling a bit sheepish for her lack of tact, she settled herself down onto one upraised root, toying with the short chain holding her Dragoon Spirit. Another large question mark was arising in her mind: just how was he going to act toward her now? "I thought you were sleeping. You were quiet."

He struggled upright slowly, like an old man who'd drifted off in a chair by the window. The rain had made his russet hair look as scruffy as it had hers, the normally messy strands sticking out in every direction even more. "I don't sleep with people around."

_If that's true, I wonder how he managed when he was pretending to be a slave. _Folding her hands around the white-silver orb, she closed her eyes but didn't try concentrating yet to call forth the healing magic. "You slept when I was there," she pointed out. "In - your home."

Kanzas cleared his throat, letting the silence say for him that she wasn't 'people'. "I don't expect you to kill me," he finally got out raspily, "now that we've gotten to know each other."

Ignoring that comment, Shirley shook her head at him, but her knuckles were still oddly white, clenched around the small marble, pain shooting down from her shoulder to her elbow. "Since you weren't sleeping, then, you must have heard what we were talking about." How could she dare to heal now? What if the spirit of the dragon denied her?

But the pure white light burst forth anyway as she called upon it, the glow spinning gently from between her fingers. She relaxed a little, feeling the tension melting away, the torn muscles of her shoulder weaving back together.

Quite nice, Kanzas decided, how she could fix everything with just a minute's worth of blinding light - it had even destroyed the infection that had been settling in his lungs, clearing up his voice. It almost made it harder to bear the pain the first place, knowing how easily it could be erased.

He didn't answer her until she'd opened her eyes again and the light faded, his gaze fixed intensely on her face. "Yeah, I heard." Just as the other two were hearing every word they spoke now… "It sounds like you've been cleared of blame."

Flinching, Shirley let go of the spirit and rubbed at her temples with her fingertips, raising her knees higher so she could lean her elbows on them. The Southlands clothes she'd been wearing in Kadessa were a bit too thin for this climate, not to mention Gloriano's long winters, and she felt as if the air was moving straight through her skin. "I don't know why I thought we could just go in and out of the capital like it was some marketplace," she mumbled dully. "I deserve that blame."

"There's enough guilt in this world to go around," Kanzas said softly, leaning forward and getting to his feet in one smooth motion. He laced his fingers together in front of him, turning them outward to stretch his arms and hands. "Don't be too greedy for more than your share."

Her tongue tasted ashen in her mouth; she glanced over toward the fire briefly to see Belzac and Syuveil sitting there eating their food, though the half-Giganto kept sneaking wary looks in her direction. Shirley understood that there was death in war, and she had indeed killed Winglies before. However, there was a certain approval in that, bound up with the knowledge that if she didn't kill them, they would certainly kill her.

What she'd done had been murder. It had nothing to do with war.

She wondered what Kanzas would say if she told him. Would he understand how horrible she felt, or would he say something like 'kill enough and you won't even feel a thing'? She was actually afraid to find out what it would be. She didn't want to be reminded of those pleading little-girl eyes, but she didn't want to forget them either. Maybe she could just be numb, without feeling.

And then Shirley remembered the little doll he'd had, the one with the woman's name she couldn't recall. She'd taken a look at it while waiting in Charle's house, had felt its rough burlap cloth and seen the stains ground into the fabric. Inside the stuffing of the doll's head was a small lump of something hard; she imagined it was bone, though she hadn't dared to unwrap it to see.

No, there was always feeling. Always always feeling, and remembering, even through the numbness. Even for someone like him.

"Our things are still at Charle's, by the way," she mumbled while the thought was so heavy in her mind. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring them. But it's all safe, and someone there can have it sent to Vellweb when everything dies down." She paused, hoping he would understand what she meant. "_She's _safe."

He turned in place, giving her a long, inscrutable look. "Yes," he whispered, kneeling down to say it close to her ear, his arm curving around her shoulders. "Long ago, I saved her. The Divine Tree holds her now, in its arms… and you don't need to worry about her, either…"

Shirley felt his breath on her cheek and turned her head to avoid the brush of his lips, raising her hands to his shoulders and trying to mask the shivers his words had caused. "Please, Kanzas," she murmured nervously, knowing they were being watched by a particular set of eyes, "I… don't want to hurt Belzac." She felt sorry for Syuveil, too, stuck in the middle of this mess between the three of them.

"Then you know how he feels about you. And if you're so concerned about his feelings," the bearded man responded, pulling away, "then why haven't you answered them?"

Hearing it said aloud like that almost made her want to cry. Nearly two weeks ago she could have gotten icy, responded that it was none of his business - but now he'd made it his business, hadn't he? Nothing, anymore, could remain the same. "Because," she drew in a deep breath to steady her voice, "I… I don't know how to answer. He's like my brother-"

Kanzas ducked his head suddenly, covering his mouth with an armored forearm to try to stop his laughter. The irony of that was too much to take, though he knew she'd ask questions now. As he turned away, he met Belzac's glare and straightened, leaving a smile playing on his face. Naturally, the large man had been listening, watching - and he hoped he'd seen plenty.

_What is he _doingA deep, perplexed and almost angry frown line forming between her brows, Shirley opened her mouth to demand just that; however, the words never had a chance to come.

A loud, percussive bang sounded in the sky above before a bright blue glow filled the space, trees not even a mile away from them fizzling to ash. The roars of the vassal dragons filled the air, unmistakably fierce and challenging.

The ground shook, tossing the four Dragoons off-balance. Rolling to avoid hitting the campfire before him, Belzac pulled himself up to his knees. "What was that?" he shouted, his voice a bit strained from repressed rage. Whatever was happening, however, was quickly taking his mind to other matters. Gleam's deep howl rose above the others, but why his dragon was so mad he couldn't say.

"No!" Syuveil cried out, staggering to his feet, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "Tsavor, do _not_ go!"

"Oh, Soa…" Shirley gasped, clutching onto the protruding tree root she'd just been perched upon a moment ago. "This is-!"

There was the sound of something streaking past at high speeds, a hail of glowing balls taking the tops off trees directly above their heads. Kanzas ducked out of the way as a limb covered in golden leaves came crashing down, barely missing the ring of stones surrounding the fire, and nearly lost his balance again as the earth rumbled once more. "The Winglies found us?" he asked loudly, eyes wide in disbelief. _That was no normal spell, whatever it was!_

Shirley shook her head hard before getting up. "No, that was the Divine Dragon!"

"The hell?" He looked to the sky again, and a moment later was rewarded by a darkness briefly blocking out the sun, huge sets of wings flapping to launch the dragon higher into the air. In his mind, he could sense Taranis projecting defiance toward the creature, focusing on it as if to attack. "What poor fool has to fight that thing?"

"No one!" she spat out, looking appalled at the thought. "The Divine Dragon would not agree to be any mortal's sacrifice! It's too full of pride, and hatred; even the Winglies - even Melbu Frahma couldn't stand against him!"

His tanned skin an odd shade of pale now, Belzac asked, "Why here? Its lair is hundreds and hundreds of miles north!" Though he was not as familiar with dragon lore as Shirley or Syuveil, he definitely knew about the Divine Dragon.

"I don't think it likes the thought of four other dragons together here, so it's trying to scatter or kill them," the scholar announced, his shoulders tensed beneath his gray tunic as he tried to keep a mental hold on Tsavor. A bit farther away in the forest, trees toppled with groaning noises, crashing loudly. "Eight, if it can feel us!"

"What's going to stop it from scattering us in Gloriano?" Belzac asked, finally getting up again.

"We'll think of that later," Shirley decided, seeing Eremi just a short distance off in the trees, head lifting toward the sky. If even her dragon was preparing to fight… "We need to get out of here before our vassal dragons go after it!"

Syuveil nodded, quickly moving to help Belzac as the other man started kicking dirt onto the fire to put it out. He gathered up their packs, shrugging his own onto his back. "Split up," he suggested, "and head toward Vellweb. We can meet up after we're far enough away."

"Be careful, everyone," Shirley told them, seeing Kanzas already turning toward Taranis, the spiky dragon's body drawn back as if to pounce. _Please, don't go after it, _she asked her own dragon, hoping her words would get through. Running toward Eremi, she tried to calm the agitated creature, finally succeeding enough to climb onto her back.

Almost before she was fastened under the ropes, they jerked upward through the trees, the young silvery-white dragon giving a high-pitched scream at the larger one before racing off into the gathered clouds, taking her stunned rider along with her. Shirley could only catch a glimpse of the others clearing the trees before they too started in different directions, sprays of energy flying from filmy wings.

Gasping, she held on for dear life, the wind biting through her terribly. This had not been a good day at all, and it didn't seem like it would be over any time soon. Curling up as much as she could to avoid the rushing air, she pleaded, _Home to Vellweb! Let's go home, Eremi! Let's just go home…!_

* * *

A cold, clear dawn was tinting the sky above the snow-covered city of Vellweb, easing its way sluggishly across the bare, unbroken landscape surrounding its walls. The business of the day was slowly beginning as the sun lit up paper windows to wake sleepy people, as merchants prepared to set up their stalls for the morning market and children brought in wood to feed the family fires. 

The quietness was shattered, however, by the snaps of giant wings overhead and the sudden ear-splitting roar of a stressed dragon. Those outside in the freezing streets looked up in awe; dragons were not very common in Gloriano, and four together were unheard of. The awe quickly turned to fear as the large reptiles began to descend, screams echoed by slamming doors as people ran to hide.

Three figures in the upper city remained, running instead toward the precarious bridges connecting the tall buildings with the walls. The first dragon landed on the barricade itself, perching almost like a bird on a clothesline, and the rest of the strange flock followed. By the time the three runners reached them, the Dragoons had dismounted and their vassal dragons were back in the air again, scattering upon their companions' commands.

"You made it! You're safe!" Zieg exclaimed, clutching his stomach as he tried to catch his breath, puffs of air swirling around his face like smoke in the chill as he looked up to watch the two unfamiliar dragons depart. "What the hell happened to all of you?"

Shirley's teeth were chattering, her cheeks flushed from windburn; Belzac had flung his cloak around her, but she already felt frozen to the core and it did little good. Kanzas too seemed blue around the lips, while the others had been more prepared. The flight back hadn't been very fun at all, with little chance to rest.

A young man had come along with Rose and Zieg, hovering back from the others. He had the same raven hair and pale skin as the swordswoman, but there the resemblance ended. Like the other two, he was dressed in thick layers of clothing and cloaks, a hood shading most of his face from the wind. Syuveil, catching sight of him, stepped forward and asked, "Shynn? Did-"

"No," he answered softly, his gloved hands holding something close to his chest. "Not yet. But it will."

Rose, flicking her eyes across the group, shook her head, reaching almost absently to hold Zieg back as he started to ask what had happened again. "We can talk later. Everyone should go get warm first. Besides, people are going to start to wonder if we stand around here."

"You're right," the blonde man admitted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Lord Diaz asked to see us when you returned, so let's meet up in the council chamber, all right?"

Silent for a moment, the others nodded agreement before slowly beginning to split up; Syuveil and Shynn headed for the towers as Zieg moved to speak to Kanzas, who let himself be ushered off with little resistance. Shirley stared at the walkways and staircases between the wall and her room high above, her heart sinking at the distance she still had to cover. _I don't know if I can walk all that way. My legs don't want to move…_

"Let me help you, Shirley," Rose offered understandingly, slipping her hand under the other woman's elbow to support her. "It's not as far as it looks." She looked up at Belzac, who was still hovering protectively nearby, and told him, "You should get a cloak too. You know it's not good to walk around without one here."

He sighed, realizing what she wanted, and gave her a faint smile. "Okay, Rose. It's good to see you too." She smiled in return, the rare gesture lighting up her ivory face, and he turned reluctantly to find the staircases to the lower city, knowing his beloved would be taken care of.

Slowly but insistently, Rose helped Shirley to her room, her slender form belying the strength she had in her arms as she nearly dragged the red-haired Dragoon up flights of stairs. The interior of her tower was almost as cold as the air outside, however, and when Rose left her to open the gate to the fire pits below she sank onto the white-leather couch and tried her best not to cry from the pain of moving her numbed limbs.

The door creaked open again and closed as she returned, and Rose stamped snow from her boots before moving to the corners of the room and kicking open the levers of the heating vents. Fires, kept burning constantly in the bases of the towers and the 'palace' building, were controlled by trapdoors on the floors below so the warmth would rise to the top of the tall structures.

As the air began to warm, the clouds of their breath fading from view, the dark-haired woman dragged several blankets from the bed and draped them around Shirley's shoulders, tucking them closely around her. "There," she said, shrugging back her own fur-lined indigo wrap to better free her arms, "you'll be fine in no time. You're warmer already from walking, see?"

"Thank you," she mumbled thickly, staring down at her lap before looking up again. "You're a Dragoon now, Rose? They never said…"

"Yes," she answered with a quicksilver smile. "And now I'm beginning to realize why you always seemed to be talking to angels."

Her cheeks reddening even more with embarrassment, Shirley coughed a little, not sure what to say. Picking up a carved wooden comb from the top of a small table, Rose took a seat next to her and silently began to work the tangles from her hair. Sniffling slightly, she just sat there and let her do it, feeling the heat of the fire as it started to fill the room with enveloping warmth.

Slowly, as though she'd been chewing on the matter for a while, Rose paused, lifting the comb, and said, "We'll have to move more quickly. But there are six Dragoons now, and we have all seven spirits. Lord Diaz has begun gathering the forces. They're not going to find us unprepared."

"I shouldn't have-" she spat out, just as quickly cutting herself off. Shirley shook her head, raising her hand to pat away the moisture forming in the corners of her eyes. Wrapped in blankets as she was, she ended up using the corner of one and scratching her eyelids with the wool. "No," she said quietly, "we don't have time for me to feel sorry for myself." _What good would it do? We have to think about saving Gloriano from my mistake now._

"There is still a little time left," Rose informed her soberly.

Wiggling her toes a bit, she pried off her sodden shoes with the heel of the opposite foot, the gravity of her responsibility settling heavily down upon her. "Not enough of it, I'm afraid." Reluctantly, she stood up, trailing blankets with her as she shuffled across the room toward the chest with her clothes in it.

The other woman shrugged, crossing one leg over the other as she remained seated. "You'll feel better after you get some rest," she decided, swinging her booted foot lightly.

Shirley's usual dress had been washed since her last journey, the bloodstains scrubbed away, and she tossed it onto the bed along with warm undergarments and thick stockings. Only when she had no other choice did she let the blankets fall, goosebumps springing up on her arms and legs as she pulled off the ragged Southlands attire in favor of a worn shift.

"In Kadessa," she tried to explain as she shook her robe out to put it on, "I just - couldn't breathe. I wasn't doing anything, and I still couldn't rest. I don't know how else to say it, but it felt as though… as though the city itself was draining away my energy."

"Yes, it does seem like that," Rose agreed quietly, her eyes focused into the distance as if she could see through the tower wall. "Maybe it's true. We'll be going back there someday, you know…"

Pulling the blue-green fabric down to hang straight, she reached for her cloak, the thick wool finally seeming to chase away the coldness that had settled in her bones. "I know," Shirley replied tonelessly, shaking her head to keep the thoughts of it away. Attacking the capital seemed so far in the future when the war had yet to begin. "Someday."

"It seems we'll have a lot to discuss today, however."

_I know, and maybe I'm sorry to you most of all, for what you'll have to hear. _Returning to the sitting area, she jammed her feet back into her shoes and sighed. Catching the other woman's eye, she gestured with her head toward the door, tucking her hands under her elbows for extra warmth. "Yes, so let's get it over with."

Nodding, Rose unfolded long legs and stood, giving her a thoughtful look. "You don't seem yourself," she remarked as they stepped outside onto the landing, its brown stone layered thickly with snow. "I'd have expected you to say we shouldn't keep Lord Diaz waiting, or the others."

Shirley shrugged half-heartedly, focusing on not slipping as they descended the icy stairs. "There's a lot I've been thinking about."

"Hmm," she murmured expressively, "I wonder if it's the company you've been keeping this last week, instead."

"Not you too!" she answered lightly, feeling more exasperated than she let on. Perhaps she could see why her friends would feel that way, though. "Kanzas has his reasons for being… unfriendly. Now that he's a Dragoon, things might change."

She raised a shoulder in a shrug and let out a gentle sigh as they turned the corner at the entrance to the towers. "I think you just trust too easily, Shirley. You're too kind, and you can be taken advantage of. He hasn't proven to me-"

Raised voices at the other end of the stone walkway interrupted her, and the women glanced quickly at each other before jogging toward the group gathered around the entrance to the building hanging in the center of the city. The two guards, dressed in Diaz's colors of orange and white, were barring the arched doors, their spears crossed protectively in front of the doorway against five familiar male figures.

"Come on," Zieg was demanding loudly, "this doesn't make any sense!"

"I'm sorry, my lord," the guard replied stiffly, "but our orders were quite clear."

Syuveil shook his head, frowning deeply. "But you've known him as long as you've known me."

The answer came back immediately: "Lord Diaz has commanded it, sir. Only six have been called for, and Sir Shynn is not among them."

"What's going on?" Shirley asked Belzac in a soft voice, coming up beside him. She wasn't very happy that everyone was standing outside when they could be indoors by now.

He looked down, his voice worried as he told her, "They aren't letting Shynn come with us, for some reason." Glad to see her looking alive again, he placed his hand on her shoulder, but a moment later she stepped forward toward the guard, her jaw tensed, and it fell away.

"You were given orders to only let us in?" she asked the guards herself, cocking her head to one side.

"Yes, my lady," one of them said, his face pleading with her though he tried to keep it impassive. "Lord Diaz gave the order personally."

The young man in question opened his mouth, trying to speak before the words came, reaching out almost imploringly. "Haven't I served him faithfully? Just because I'm not a-" He cut himself off just in time, remembering that they might be overheard.

Rose shook her head, giving him a sidelong glance. "We should not argue with Lord Diaz," she announced. "I'm sorry, Shynn."

"Why are we arguing?" Kanzas spat, gesturing dismissively. He was wearing a dark castoff coat several sizes too large, the sleeves flapping as he waved. "This guy's obviously not… been chosen," he amended with some effort. Whirling on the guard, he said, "_I'm _going in. Are you going to let me in?"

"Y-yes, sir," he answered, stunned into motion. However, as he reached for the ring to pull open the door, he looked back at the others hesitantly, as if expecting trouble.

His lips compressing into a thin line, Shynn gave Kanzas a dark look before turning to stride away. "Shynn, wait!" Syuveil reached to grab hold of his navy-blue cloak as he left, but he yanked it out of reach, moving quickly toward the stairs to the lower city. "This isn't right!" the Jade Dragoon muttered, watching his friend go for a moment as the small group began to silently file in through the doorway.

"They were just doing what they were told," Shirley tried to assure him, but she knew it would do no good and so went quiet, staring downward as the six of them made their way beneath the towers. A sort of thoughtful stillness had fallen over them, no one wanting to start talking first.

Inside the building, Zieg led them down the spiral hallway, further past the rooms in which they were accustomed to meeting their lord. The last room was also guarded by two members of Diaz's personal guard, who merely opened the doors to them, revealing a chamber mostly filled by a large, rectangular table.

As Shirley began to follow the others in, a hand seized her wrist, pulling her aside briefly. "I feel like we're going before Nomos," Kanzas muttered to her with a mocking grin. "What kind of punishment does Master give disobedient Dragoons?"

She shuddered at the thought of the notorious Wingly judge, twisting her arm from his grip. "Don't say things like that! He will be disappointed," she answered unhappily, "but we won't be _punished_."

"Oh," his voice dripped sarcasm, "but then however will we learn better?"

"Stop it! You aren't making this any easier!" Spinning away, she walked into the council room, feeling self-conscious as she took a seat next to Belzac near the head of the table.

Shortly afterward, a servant entered surreptitiously, bearing a tray. Slipping between them, she placed goblets of mulled wine in front of each of them, barely breaking the stillness. Kanzas wandered in casually a few moments later, ignoring the chairs but rather strolling over to the window and flicking aside the thick drapes to look out. There wasn't much to see, however, as the building was surrounded by the seven towers. Their bases were all that was visible outward from this room, although the city was spread out far below.

"Not much of a view, perhaps," a voice nearby said suddenly, "but it does remind us of our strength."

Trying to hide his surprise, the russet-haired man turned to face the owner of the voice, finding Diaz standing there. The ruler of Gloriano seemed bowed beneath an invisible weight despite his placid manner, his face lined with care. "I guess it's a nice pile of rock," he muttered, well aware of the others at the table watching him to see what he'd do.

The nobleman smiled knowingly, replying, "One of those towers will be yours now, Kanzas, as you are now a Dragoon. Shirley is not often wrong about such things, so I cannot be too surprised that you and Belzac are now among us. Rose as well." He looked around the room, adding, "It makes me glad to see our table almost filled."

As he moved to take his seat, Kanzas said, "Hey, wait." Inwardly laughing at the way Rose and Belzac tensed in anger at the disrespect, he went on, "You reminded me; I made a deal with Shirley. So…" Clearing his throat a bit, he took a step forward and then stood back again, raising his hand and then dropping it. "Oh, hell. Since I _am_ a Dragoon, and since I don't think I could actually do much alone, I… swear to serve you. I'll join your campaign and fight for you and… all that."

Startled, Shirley sat up straight, turning to stare at him. Though it had probably been the most awkward oath of fealty she could imagine, he'd certainly sworn it. _That's right, _she remembered, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach briefly. At the moment, she couldn't decide what to feel about that. _I did say…_

Raising his eyebrows, Diaz nodded. "I accept whatever loyalty you can spare for me, Kanzas," he replied with vague amusement. "I do hope that I will earn more of it in time."

As Diaz moved to take his seat, Belzac frowned to himself, watching the other man drop into the chair on the other side of Shirley. _Lord Diaz shouldn't have to earn his loyalty, _he thought angrily, though the emotion quickly turned to horror as he remembered what Kanzas had said. _What did she promise him to get him to do that? Whatever it is, Shirley, it can't be worth it…_

"Very well," their lord announced. "Let this council of Dragoons begin."

With everyone at the table, there was a conspicuous gap where one more of them should have been, and they all eyed it for a moment, wondering if they should mention it, until Syuveil made the decision for them. "Lord Diaz," he said suddenly, his voice clear and loud as he put down his goblet, "why was Shynn not allowed to join us?"

The man looked curious, as if wondering why the question had been asked in the first place. "Of course, it is because he is not a Dragoon. We cannot simply assume that he is to join your ranks, though indeed he won the spirit. In the end, Syuveil, the choice belongs to the Blue Sea Dragon - as Soa's fate decrees."

Although he looked distinctly unhappy, the bespectacled man nodded, sighing to himself. "I understand, my lord."

"Now," Diaz began, leaning forward slightly, dark eyes growing very serious, "Shirley, Kanzas, I would like to hear exactly how you ended up in Kadessa, and why two of your comrades had to go to assist you."

Her heart thumping loudly with dread, Shirley tightened her fists in her lap before finally looking upward. Kanzas interrupted her, however, before she could speak, saying, "We went to rescue my vassal dragon from the arena." Anticipating the next question, he continued, "Wingly guards heard my fight and, when they came to see what happened, took him away."

"Kanzas was badly wounded," Shirley explained quickly. "We couldn't stop them."

The russet-haired man rocked back in his chair, tipping it up on two legs. He seemed oblivious to the looks the others were giving him at his lack of respect, though he was aware of how nervous the young woman at his side was. "I wasn't going to let them keep him," he told Diaz blithely, going on to summarize what he knew of the events that had followed.

She sat there and let him tell it, just watching her lord's expression change as he listened, seeing the pain flash across his face briefly when Kanzas mentioned the five executed slaves near the village center. Though the others made remarks and asked questions, she kept her eyes on Diaz alone. She could detect the disapproval hidden in his carefully neutral looks, his whole demeanor making her wonder why she'd gone along with the plan in the first place.

Shirley hated to think what his expression would look like when she told him her part of the story. And, yet, she had to do it; lying about it would be even worse.

Finally, Kanzas' story drew to a close, and there was a silence as the Dragoons waited for Diaz to react. The lord sighed, smoothing down his beard with the palm of his hand, and then shifted in his seat. "Shirley," Diaz began, "I have known you for six years, and I know that you would not have purposely done anything to endanger us."

She stared down at her hands twining in her lap, and he glanced to her left. The Thunder Dragoon met the other man's eyes with a steady glare, unmoved by the sternness in his tone.

"Kanzas, you are a newcomer here, so you could not have been expected to know. As the ruler of Gloriano, I have a responsibility to the free Humans I rule, and to all the races the Winglies kill or enslave. Until we are ready for war, there is a delicate line we must tread to prevent them from turning their magic upon us. We must prove that we have a chance against them, or else those enslaved will have no hope, will not join us."

He shrugged, raising his hand in a flippant wave. "I think we showed them that already, made a mockery of their damn arena. Let them chew on that while you make your armies or whatever."

"Or," Rose interjected strongly, "you only gave the Winglies cause to make more examples like you spoke of earlier, kill innocents to keep them afraid. Or you gave them just cause to come straight for us, here. _Listen_ to what Lord Diaz has said - for once."

Tenseness filled the room like a thick fog before Zieg cleared his throat loudly and said, "Well, there is a chance they will hold off on retaliating. From what I know, that Wingly you fought in the arena, Kanzas, was Commander Arturo, the commanding officer of the army you two found encamped in the Southlands."

Raising an eyebrow, he remarked blandly, "Oh, so that's who he was."

"That's true," Syuveil murmured thoughtfully in response to Zieg, having missed the soft remark. "They'll have to wait until they can promote someone. Perhaps some in-fighting for the position. There wouldn't be much chance for them to launch an attack from there, at any rate. They might not consider it worth the effort."

"Even with all the damage we did?" Belzac asked skeptically. "Melbu Frahma was there; he saw our transformations and our Dragoon armor. He even said-" Cutting himself off, he looked to Shirley, but when she didn't even turn her head, he knew he had to finish the statement. "He knew what it's called, somehow, that we were from Vellweb."

Rose made a thoughtful noise, though shaking her head in disbelief. "It wouldn't be hard to guess Vellweb," she remarked, "but… well, we know there must be spies here. Fara, for one. That there are Dragoons here could have slipped out easily. But, even if he knows the name-"

"Lord Diaz," Shirley blurted suddenly, her face chalky and her palms cold and clammy. She looked up at his kind face across the table, and he waited patiently as she formed words and then cast them aside, until she got out, "Frahma will retaliate. I tried to kill him, Lord Diaz, but I failed. I thought… he was the one who darkened our lives, he was the one who started all this pain. And, if he was dead, then so many more lives could be spared."

Rose and Zieg stared at her in disbelief; Kanzas' chair legs made a thunk on the floorboards as he sat up straight, blinking at her although he'd heard it earlier. _That's why she's nervous. Why does she care so much about that? So what if she failed? There's other chances._

Diaz turned the plain silver band on his ring finger almost absently, though his attention never wavered from his first Dragoon. "But he anticipated you?" he asked evenly.

Shirley closed her eyes, as if being unable to see them would erase their reactions somehow; her voice became a soft cry from the darkness there. "He must have, my lord. His - his little slave girl - stepped forward and took the blow." _And fell dead there, wondering why the angel in white came from the sky with a knife for her-_

Even closed eyes couldn't bar her from Rose's sharp indrawn breath, or the sound of uncomfortable silence from the rest. Belzac's hand moved to cover her own, shockingly warm against her bloodless, cold fingers, and she jumped in surprise, finally daring to look again, although she couldn't make herself look straight at anyone.

"It was a regrettable accident," Diaz told her, sympathy coloring his voice before it hardened again. "And yet what you did cannot be changed. We will increase our defenses as we can, and prepare for the worst." He stood suddenly, flipping his cloak back off his shoulders. "Zieg."

"My lord?" the blonde man responded automatically, the words jarred from his lips.

"We will have several days before our allies arrive," he said, "and in that time, it is imperative that we discover the last Dragoon. I am sorry, Syuveil, but we cannot count on the spirit accepting Shynn. As the others quite likely now have bounties on their heads, you and Rose must search for our new bearer."

With uncharacteristic nervousness, Zieg nodded, glancing at the dark-haired woman beside him. Rose was sitting in stony stillness, her eyes focused on an invisible point across the room. Finally, he ran his hand through his hair and responded, "Yes, sir, as you command."

Nodding curtly in return, Diaz said, "There are matters I must now attend to. We no longer have time to waste. This council is done."

Very slowly, the six Dragoons around the table rose to their feet, bowing in respect, although their minds were certainly not on the ceremony. Even Kanzas inclined his head rather sardonically, his eyes on Shirley rather than his new leader.

The doors creaked open to let Diaz pass, the impassive guards standing aside, and not long after he had disappeared down the hallway, Syuveil coughed awkwardly. Sweeping saddened eyes across the others, he too turned away and quickly took his leave as well.

Inhaling a deep, shuddering breath, Shirley turned to the other woman, her hands clasped at her collarbone. She knew exactly why the Dragoon of Darkness was so still now, had turned so cold and frozen. "Rose," she pleaded in a breaking voice, "Rose, please-"

"It was…" She shook her head, leaning suddenly against her chair. "It was for the best, Shirley. She would not have had much of a life."

The red-haired healer reached out for her hand, the room blurring before her as tears rose. "I'm sorry… please, forgive me-"

Gently, but quite firmly, Rose pushed her outstretched hand away, turning her head in a sharp motion. Zieg slipped his arm around her shoulders, and she moved to hide her face against his red tunic briefly before stepping toward the door. Though he went with her, Zieg mouthed over his shoulder 'give her time'; Shirley barely saw it, her chest hitching with a sob she fought to control.

Folding her hands between his own, Belzac said soothingly, "She knows you didn't mean to do it, Shirley. Everyone knows that."

"But I should have known better!" she protested. "I should have known better, and I did it anyway!"

Kanzas crossed his arms in front of him, suddenly reminding them he was there as he remarked, "Why does Rose care so much, anyway? Why's it up to her to forgive you or not?"

Hesitant to answer, Shirley finally told him, "Because… she was once like that child. Before she was freed, she was Melbu Frahma's personal slave." Her voice grew louder despite her attempts to keep it down. "It could have been Rose I - I killed!"

"But it wasn't. You're all making a big deal out of nothing."

"Don't you say another word, you little - monster!" Belzac roared, whirling on him. "You got her into this! Don't you feel any guilt at all for what you've put her through?"

Unflinchingly, he gave the half-Giganto a smirk, holding his ground. "It's a war, isn't it? Isn't it what you wanted? If Shirley wants to fight in a war, she can't carry everyone else's wounds. People die. Children die. Winglies too, I imagine. If that kid was a Wingly, we wouldn't be bothering with this right now."

Belzac's face reddened in anger, his hands clenching into fists. He didn't know what stung more, Kanzas' unfeeling or the kernel of truth in his words. "You have no soul," he snarled.

He laughed shortly in return, "And what would I do with one? Why should I care if Rose was like that dead girl? If I swore revenge for every murdered slave-"

"No, don't you go on, Kanzas," Shirley told him sternly, quickly reaching to squeeze his arm and stop him. "You do understand Rose's feelings. I know this because I saw what you did when we came across that… warning."

He pulled away from her abruptly, scowling, and shouted, "Then you go ahead and cry for them, Shirley! Cry a tear for every soul in Mayfil; cry a tear for every Wingly whose life you take! Go ahead and sob your eyes out, little warrior! Let your sorrow give you Heaven!"

Shirley drew herself up straight, her teeth clenched. There was too much depending on them now, and she could not remain the same in the face of that great responsibility. "No," she hissed, seeing out of the corner of her eye Belzac starting in shock. "I don't have the right to do that. No, Kanzas - I will not cry anymore…"


	7. Chapter Seven

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter Seven

It was night in Vellweb, the freezing air choked with the scent of long-burning fires and the remains of cooked meals. Above, stars glittered coldly, their light mocking the sparkling whiteness of drifting snow lit by the shine of the unsetting moon. There was stillness within the encircling stone walls, the city's occupants cocooned in their beds.

In a tavern in the lower city, only the scratch of twigs on wood could be heard as the owner swept flat the rushes that had been strewn across the floor to collect the mud from customers' boots. The aching sense of emptiness that happens in busy places when everyone has gone filled the ale-hall - and crept upstairs as well.

Kanzas slept fitfully in the spare room above the tavern's kitchen, Shirley having rented it for him when they'd first come to the city from Mekadris. It was a small space, the chimney rising up along one wall to warm it, with a single small oiled paper window on the opposite side to let in what daylight could reach. There was barely enough room for his bed to fit in one corner.

Though, incongruously enough, he did not often suffer nightmares, this time was different. Kanzas twisted violently beneath the knitted yarn blankets, clutching his pillow, releasing it, his breath coming in short gasps. And, inside his mind, a small farm baked under the rays of a relentless summer sun.

It was no place he had ever been. Three whitewashed buildings sat arrayed around a small garden, and fields stretched beyond. He didn't know why he was here, nor did he care. He had a knife in his hand, and here life lingered.

He was searching for something, or someone; two other men searched with him, and he instantly knew himself to be their leader, a bandit again. Into the houses and out again, looking, and looking, but finding nothing other than blue sky, waving grass and flowers planted neatly in rows.

In one of the buildings, upstairs, Kanzas discovered a bedroom. Lying crumpled on the floor was the body of one of his companions, blood streaking his chest. Calmly, he continued to wander the area, hearing as if it was next to him the sound of doors slamming, of feet running on brick pathways, of hushed, frightened voices.

He walked on. The other man was dead as well, a mere limp shape barely recognizable on a floor. It did not matter; he stalked his invisible prey, hearing the footsteps and voices, occasionally catching a glimpse of straw-colored hair or a scrap of cloth disappearing around the corner as the sweltering air buzzed with the heat.

The third building was empty of people, but filled with such things as they accumulated throughout their lives. Kanzas picked up a piece of paper that was lying on a table, holding it up to see a poorly-drawn image of a woman's face traced across the sheet in black ink. He held it to the light, staring at it without curiosity.

"Do you know her?"

This did not surprise him either; he knew he had nothing to fear. He looked at the young woman standing there, a blonde Human he didn't recognize. Just some girl, random and unremarkable, walking up so hesitantly toward him. "No," he answered, handing her the ugly portrait. "I don't know her."

She nodded, putting the paper back on the table before taking a trembling breath and stabbing him in the chest. He drew back, eyes wide with pain, and she drove the dagger into him again. He slashed at her with his own knife, but no blow connected. She stabbed him again. Again. Again. He felt the heat of his blood welling upward, felt the sharp blade sliding into him with each frantic jab.

And Kanzas fell to one knee, his hands doing nothing to staunch the thick red flow dripping from the latticework she'd made of his chest, but his voice was steady, calm if weak: "Why?"

Tears welled in her eyes as she answered tightly, "You tried to kill my family. I won't let you."

"I understand." He nodded, and like a curtain falling, darkness descended. But it was not the end.

The dream shifted, and he found himself in a bed, bandaged, alive but without the strength to move. The room around him was white, as was everything in it. He felt blinded by the brightness of it all.

The woman who'd stabbed him sat now by his side, pressing a wet cloth to his brow. Small dragons played on the floor, and, with the logic of dreams, he knew that somehow years had passed, that the dragons were supposed to be their children. He also knew that he'd die from his wounds soon, but the prospect did not alarm him. There was no pain - only sorrow, and fear. This room terrified him.

She touched his head, running her fingers gently through his hair. "You will be well," she murmured. But he knew she was lying, and he was already dead.

And yet this did not bother him; what he was _feeling_ terrified him, this new emotion swelling to fill his chest as he woke, thrashing the covers away and staring blankly into the darkness as sweat trickled down his face from his hairline. What he felt was remorse, a lingering sense of remorse from a dream, regret over something that hadn't even happened.

_It never happened. It was a dream-_

No, it had been a nightmare, and he didn't even know why he was scared. The small of his back felt damp, the threadbare shirt he was wearing sticking to his skin. It wasn't as if the day's events had made him dream of Shirley, or even Jidena being regurgitated from the dank pool of memory. The girl he'd dreamed of had meant nothing, had been no one, and yet he still wished he hadn't-

Hadn't done anything! Letting out a low growling noise, Kanzas swiped his hand across his face and scruffy beard before reaching blindly for the small table crammed next to the bed. His fingers fumbled across the ceramic pitcher sitting there, knocking it to the floor with a shattering crash. Angrily, he sent the washbowl after it, and a watery slosh and the plinking of shards on the floorboards rang out loudly in the stillness.

A moment later he found what he was reaching for, his fingers closing tight around his Dragoon Spirit. With a deep sigh of relief, he tore a long strip from the end of his ragged shirt and bound the violet orb against the inside of his wrist as he'd been wearing it before. It seemed to beat gently in time with his pulse, as if to remind him that he was still alive.

Too awake now to try to get back to sleep, he shoved the covers aside, lurching over the end of the bed to avoid the pieces of the bowl and pitcher on the floor. Shirley would have been surprised to find that he hadn't slept much while in Kadessa, either. Kanzas hated those little slices of nightly death, the required hours of vulnerability; sometimes it felt as if he lived on his nerves alone.

He crossed the little room toward a short pile of secondhand clothing, folded on a rickety chair by the window, and began throwing it all on, several layers thick. The weather here was one more thing he didn't like about Vellweb, as he'd been a Southlander his whole life and wasn't used to having to dress warmly just to go outside. The bulky things were awkward and made him feel immobile, the heavy boots like leaden weights on his feet, but at least they kept out the wind.

And the wind was indeed blowing, scraping loose powder from the hardened drifts outside and blowing the flurries into the air. It howled into the upstairs room as Kanzas pushed the window frame outward on its frozen hinges, spraying snow into his face as he climbed through the narrow opening. The tavern's roof angled away toward the icicle-covered drop-off, and he walked out toward the edge, eyes scanning the sky.

The shape came in a blur of darkness, momentarily blotting out stars as it passed, descending toward the sleeping city. The man raised his arms, hands outstretched, and as Taranis dropped lower he caught hold of the length of chain still trailing from the collar around his neck. The dragon was projecting concern, having sensed his Dragoon's troubled thoughts. _Anywhere, _he thought, adjusting his grip on the freezing metal. Night guards were calling an alarm, their voices clear through the silent night. _Let's go anywhere._

The dragon flapped hard to rise higher into the air, the gale from his wings making houses creak, and Kanzas carefully climbed up the oversized links like a ladder, dropping onto a scaled back as they left the city behind them. Wrapping his arm beneath the collar at the base of Taranis' neck, he let out a sigh and, finally, closed his eyes.

* * *

The orphanage's schoolroom was small and cramped with students, the air hot and stuffy from the fireplace in one wall. In summer, school was held outdoors, but summer was short and still some time from now. 

"Come now, Davi," Belzac sighed, squatting down to bring himself more level with the table. "I can tell you're not trying."

"I'm trying," the boy whined back in return, dragging a stubby bit of chalk listlessly over his piece of slate. Several letters had been printed neatly above his scrawls, which looked only remotely like the examples.

The man shook his head, glancing at the work in front of the other children sitting around the table. Most of them had managed to copy their letters, at least, though with varying degrees of success. No one but he and sometimes Shirley ever bothered to hold class, and they'd both been gone. It was usually hard to keep the children's attention as it was without long absences between lessons.

It couldn't really be helped, though; the vast majority of Vellweb's residents were former slaves, and they generally had never learned to read or write themselves. The wife of Belzac's old owner had taught him, and he'd taught Shirley, but that sort of thing wouldn't happen nowadays. It was against Wingly law now to educate Humans, in case they started getting _ideas_. He hardly worried about that, though - he'd continue to give them a future, and if he was ever executed, he doubted it would be because he taught some kids to read.

He circled the table to write a new set of words on the slates, pausing briefly to pat Damia's shoulder in silent approval before erasing her neat letters. Though she too had been illiterate when she'd come here, the half-mermaid was learning quite quickly. She was one of the oldest children in the orphanage now, and he'd found her to be a great help with the others.

"Very good," he announced when he'd returned to his starting point. "Please continue." Leaning down behind Davi as the sounds of chalk on slate commenced, he adjusted the boy's grip, guiding his hand in the shapes of the letters. "Like this, now," Belzac murmured. Immediately, Davi relaxed, letting his teacher move his hand but not paying attention to what, exactly, he was writing. Biting his lip in aggravation, he repeated patiently, "Davi, you have to _try_."

"I am trying," the child answered back automatically, shaking his head as if annoyed.

He sighed again under his breath, brushing back his brown hair absently. Sometimes, even the tone of the boy's voice made him despair of ever teaching him anything. Davi seemed to float through life wrapped in ignorance, with no desire to learn at all.

The low blaze in the fireplace guttered suddenly, the loud howl of wind rising outside to scream and shake the planks of the walls. Belzac stood up slowly, hearing a few shrieks from the younger children, and went over to where they were playing near the fire. "What's wrong?" he asked, compacting his huge form as he knelt near them. "Christa?"

The little girl in question sniffled, her face red, before extending one hand, clutching a rag doll with the other. As he lifted it up gently with two fingers, one of the others volunteered, "The fire spitted, and she got burnt."

"It's not bad," he told her with a kind smile after inspecting the pink splotch on her tiny hand. "Let's see if we can find a bandage for that." She nodded tearfully, and he picked her up and stood without effort, giving the room an automatic glance for trouble starting.

And then the door slammed open; a boy ran inside from the woodpile, logs spilling from the stack clutched in his arms as he hurried toward the half-Giganto. "Teacher," he gasped, "there's - there's-"

"Calm down, Robin," he said quickly, shifting Christa in his arms as he went to meet him, his pale gaze still focused on the boy. "What is it?"

His eyes wide, he gasped out, "A dragon! There's a dragon!"

"You're lying, Robin!" another boy's voice said, its owner standing up from where he'd been seated with the others around the table.

"Am not!" he retorted. Color flooded back into his pale face as he forgot his fear in order to defend himself. "It's flying down right outside!"

More chairs scraped back as other children got up, crowding toward the door and the windows, voices rising in an excited babble. "I wanna see!"

"Not me! I'm scared-"

"Really a dragon? Guess what, I saw one when I was five-"

"I can't see through here, open the window-"

"Enough!" Belzac shouted, his loud, deep voice immediately silencing them. The fear on Robin's face had been enough for him to know that he was telling the truth. "I'll go see what this is about. None of you are to step foot out of this room, you hear me?" Patting the blonde waves of Christa's hair as she sniffled and clutched the sleeve of his white linen shirt, he put her on the ground, moving for the entrance.

His students quickly made a path for him, watching as he ducked through the open doorway and raised a hand to shade his eyes from the glare of sun on snow. However, he soon dropped it, realizing that something was, in fact, blocking out the sun. Light glinted instead off Taranis' shiny violet scales, his wings creating huge gusts as he flapped them to stay aloft above the lower city roofs. "What is the meaning of this?" Belzac yelled, though he was not talking to the dragon.

A moment later, a figure swung down from the back of the dragon, dropping from the large chain to land upright in the drifts. Blowing snow stirred around them, mixed with particles of glowing turquoise as Taranis rose back into the air again. Kanzas smirked at Belzac, glancing around at the people gawking, most from hiding places behind something or through opened windows. " 'Meaning'?" he said, folding his arms in front of him.

Swallowing hard, the Golden Dragoon watched as Taranis flew toward the towers before settling with a flare onto the edge of the nearest unfinished one. "The dragon," he hissed back angrily. "Into the middle of the city!"

"He doesn't like it here," Kanzas said, waving a hand. "Too cold."

"Then send him to the mountains on the southern border like the rest of us," he retorted, still trying to keep his voice down.

"It's Kanzas?" someone broke in; they both whirled back to see the children crowded into the doorway, staring at them but carefully staying just inside the room. Damia had pushed her way to the front of the group and out onto the doorstep, her ruby eyes widened in surprise.

The man blinked at her. "Oh, it's you," he answered vaguely. "Still afraid, are you?"

"Um-mum-um," a girl's voice piped, "I'm telling…! Teacher, Damia's outside!"

"Tattletale!" she retorted, spinning around with flushed cheeks.

"So? You are!"

"Well, you're whiny!"

_This is just what I need… _"Everyone, take a step backward!" Belzac hollered toward the children, giving them a familiar teacherly glare and watching until they did so. "Good! Now, stay there! Quietly!" Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he turned back and demanded, "What do you want, Kanzas?"

"I was out flying around," he replied in the same distant tone. "Is Shirley here? She's not in her tower."

The question made him tense up, but he forced himself to brush it off. "No, she's not here."

"You're sure?" he asked, peering over the heads of the children into the dimness of the schoolroom, as if he could see anything other than shadows from where he stood. "I wanted to tell her something."

"Of course I'm sure!" he snapped back irately. "Plan to apologize for what you said to her yesterday?"

He made an amused noise. "No. It's important."

Belzac immediately cleared his throat, taking a breath of cold air. If it had been anyone else, he would have just gone in and slammed the door on him immediately; however, the children were watching, and they would remember such hostility between two Dragoons. "I don't know where she is, but I'm sure she's too busy to be disturbed by your banter," he informed the other man shortly. "And, in fact, so am I. Save it."

There was a pause as Kanzas looked up at him slowly, regarding him with an impassive expression. "So, then," he said suddenly, tilting his head to the side, "I'm _not_ supposed to tell you about the convoy heading this way?"

* * *

"You know… this was one of the last places I'd have thought to look for you." 

Though the sound of the voice surprised her, Shirley didn't look up from where she was seated in the corner. Her hand, however, paused in mid-motion, needle and thread upraised. "I think that may be why I'm here," she replied quietly, brown eyes finally flickering toward the doorway. "Rose."

The older woman remained standing in the entrance, a darker shape amidst the steam and warm fire glow of the 'palace' laundry, looking around the room rather than meet Shirley's gaze. Servants worked in the large area beyond, stirring vats of boiling clothing that gave off a strong cinnamony smell from the cassia bark in the water.

A bit farther back, others were using what looked like old millstones to squeeze the water out of sopping fabric, pressing it flat. Grayish water splashed over the laundry's rock floor, trickling down past iron grates and away below. They were ignoring Shirley, apparently, and thus her as well, attending to their hot work.

Rose finally approached her, watching her sewing a patch over a tear in one side of the black fabric she had piled on her lap. Even in the dim firelight she made tiny, even stitches, masking the rip completely. A basket of mending sat beside her; there appeared to be more clothes finished than not. "And how long do you plan to hide here?" she asked in a neutral tone.

Shirley's hand jerked a bit, her needle pricking her finger. She raised it up to eye level, watching almost sadly as a drop of blood beaded up before quickly sucking it away. "I don't know," she answered, her even tone wavering slightly, and she put down her thread, folding her hands over the bundle in her lap. _That all depends on you, my friend. I dreamed of a little dead girl last night, and she wore your face… _"Would you prefer it if I pretended nothing happened?"

The Darkness Dragoon looked away, twisting a long strand of her black ponytail around her finger. Suddenly, she sat down, leaning her back against the side of Shirley's chair, and pulled her knees up close despite the heat of the room. "No," she said, "I wouldn't. But Zieg and I will be leaving this afternoon to search for the Blue Sea bearer, and I don't want to go with things unsaid between us."

A small part of her, deep inside, wondered why she had to tread so cautiously around Rose's feelings anyway - but this thought was quickly brushed away in shame. "I am guilty, Rose," she whispered, her voice low, "and though the child's death was accidental, there's no denying I killed her." She gave a bitter, sardonic laugh. "I don't think I could feel worse. I _am_ hiding, but I don't know what else I can do."

"I should not have made it worse," Rose replied slowly. She lowered her head, deep in memory, pale face almost hidden against her folded arms. "You could not have known… after all, I never said anything about it, did I? About Frahma, and those years. How could you have known we - she was trained to give her life for him without a moment's thought? Protect the master, shield him from assassination, as if he needed the help. We were more afraid of the punishment for failing than the death obeying would bring."

Tentatively, Shirley reached down her hand, placing it on the woman's shoulder. "I am sorry, Rose. So very sorry."

She tensed momentarily before reaching to grab hold of her hand, squeezing her fingers tightly, though otherwise remaining still. "You needn't be," she answered impassively. "Not to me. The… anger I felt has passed, and the pain too. Melbu Frahma must be stopped, and for that to happen innocents will be sacrificed. It's not your fault - it's _his_."

Dropping her gaze sharply, she said, "Kanzas told me something like that as well. If it's truth, it's bitter to swallow."

"Did he, now." It wasn't really a question. "It's not what I'd have expected him to say. I'll tell you this, too, Shirley - I don't trust him. The dragon accepted him, but it still feels like he's hiding something."

"I know he is," Shirley confided, lifting her head to stare at the wall across from her. "But I got to know him on our journey… more. Kanzas has no love for Winglies. If anything, he has more in common with you than you think, Rose. It's… not my place to tell you how, though."

Silently, the other woman thought this over, making the connections in her mind. "I see," she replied after a while, blue eyes flashing darkly in the dim light. "This doesn't make me trust him any more, however, and you shouldn't mistake pity for something stronger."

Reaching up with her free hand to brush hair from her blushing face, she went on, "I don't expect you to trust him - and I'm _not_, I swear. I'm just doing what I can to help him, but - well, you know. It's not easy. You of all people know how terrible the past can be."

"I of all people know," she responded, but her voice had a lightness in it, her fingers warm clasped around her own. "But I'm stronger than old memories. Not everyone can be. Sometimes," she went on very quietly, "not me either…"

She didn't answer, Rose's words striking somewhere inside her, calling up the ghost of the executed slaves and Kanzas as he spoke of Aglis, his voice straining horribly, almost scraping against her mind. It was strange to think of him as not being strong enough, and yet it made a sad kind of sense. She understood why Rose was mistrustful, and had felt it herself, but even so…

"Take care, Shirley, even though you mean well. I once pretended my fear of Frahma was love for him. Now I see the truth, and I only wish his death."

There was a pause as a maid went past them, through the doorway with a basketful of wet clothing to be hung on lines to dry. Her friend's advice had hit too close for her to acknowledge it aloud, and so when the servant had gone, the red-haired Dragoon made sure to change the subject, murmuring, "I'm afraid that even Frahma's death won't cure all the evil of the world."

Rose nodded in agreement, her grip on Shirley's hand tightening slightly before she let go. "No, it won't. But it'll be a start." Her hand fell to her side, and she straightened, relaxing a little and stretching out one booted foot as she sensed the change in the mood. "Zieg has promised that to me," she said in a happier tone, "as an engagement present. I'm told rings are more traditional…"

Shirley felt her lips curving into a small, almost involuntary smile, although she wished she could see the expression on Rose's face, to know if she was truly as forgiving as she sounded. Though Rose had learned to hide pain, she knew it would still be some time before the guilt began to fade from her own conscience. "You two are finally engaged, then. It took longer than I thought."

"Yes," she said, pleased, "but don't tell anyone yet. It's not the right time for such things anymore. We'll be married when we can be sure our children will never know slavery."

"That might be some time from now," Shirley told her gently.

Rose finally turned to face her, twisting to stand up and brushing rock dust from her black leggings and long slit indigo tunic. "I can wait for that," she announced, smiling, "but not to get some air. Come up now with me, Shirley. You'll ruin your eyes and your aim, sitting in the dim like this."

Giving her a wry look, she tucked the needle through the edge of the cloth she held before setting it in the basket and standing up. "I could use some fresh air," she admitted, stretching her legs and snatching up her cloak. _Just not the cold! _Fastening it tightly around her shoulders, she followed her friend without protest, however, up the curving flight of stairs from the laundry and outside.

The very bases of the seven towers sat here, breaking from the huge cobbled courtyard like the trunks of massive trees reaching for the sky. The towers were wider at the bottom and covered a lot of the lower city's ground space; in fact, more dwellings were being carved into the walls of the cliffs partly surrounding Vellweb to meet the growing demand for housing.

It actually wasn't very cold in this courtyard, thanks to the fires on the lower levels that heated the towers and the occupants within. The stones beneath their feet were free from snow for a great distance despite the fact that the shade of the circled towers prevented much sun from reaching the ground.

Out of habit, Shirley craned her head back, trying to see to the tops of the structures around them, and then gasped as she saw shadows high above separate, merge and flutter. "What is that?" she got out, stumbling a little when she leaned back too far.

Rose merely raised her eyebrow, unsurprised, although her voice had hardened a bit. "It's one of the vassal dragons; Kanzas', I believe, though I didn't get a very good look at it. It's been sitting up there since at least fifteen minutes before I went to see you."

Even as she stared upward, the shadow suddenly extended, wings unfolding, and the dragon took to the air again, climbing high enough to disappear into the sky. As it moved, a single flash of morning sunlight streamed out from behind a tower dome before disappearing, becoming a vague halo around the colored marble. "Oh, Divine Tree," she said softly, clutching the edges of her white cloak with crossed wrists. "Why? I thought he knew better than that!"

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," the dark-haired woman told her, pulling a pair of black leather gloves from under her belt and putting them on. "The time for secrecy is over now, especially when it comes to the connection between Vellweb and the dragons."

"You're right," she managed, remembering all too well Taranis' rescue. "Let's go-"

"Rose! Shirley!" The two spun at the sound of their names, stopping as a familiar figure ran up to them, her telltale long teal hair flying behind her. "I'm so glad I… found you both," Damia panted as she reached them, pulling up short to catch her breath. "I thought I'd have to… go up the stairs…"

Shirley smiled, patting her shoulder briefly. "Why are you running around the city? Does Belzac know?"

"He sent me," the girl said breathlessly, straightening her blue wrap where it was twisting around her neck. "I've learned my way around the city since I came here. It's easier than it looks."

"And she's been making herself useful as a messenger since then," Rose put in, sounding amused. "What does Belzac want, Damia?"

She bit her lip momentarily in thought, drawing her hands together behind her back. "He wants you and Shirley to meet him by the lower south gate," she recited, nearly chanting it as she recalled the half-Giganto's words. "There's someone… unexpected coming, and it might be important that everyone is there."

"How strange," Shirley murmured. It didn't sound like this visitor's arrival was bad news, but they weren't expecting anyone important yet, either. She had no idea who it might be, or why the Dragoons would need to meet them; Rose, for her part, gave a pensive nod but said nothing.

Damia's gaze refocused as she finished the message, and she went on more slowly, "I found Zieg already, but there's - Syuveil? Is that right? I need to tell him too, but I don't know who he is. Where do I find him?"

"He's probably in his tower, studying, if I know him," Shirley answered, pointing upward and shading her eyes with her other hand as she did so. "The one with the green dome."

The twelve-year-old followed the line of her motion and groaned exaggeratedly, putting her hand to her forehead. "No, I do have to go up the stairs! I always feel like I'm going to fall…"

"You won't fall if you pay attention." Shirley peered at her, suddenly noticing the way she had combed her hair forward over half her face; she kept absently but firmly smoothing it down to keep it in place. "Is there something wrong, Damia?" she asked, indicating the odd hairstyle when she got a questioning look in response. "Why are you covering your eye?"

"Oh, no, it's nothing," she blurted out quickly, her fingers jerking toward her hair again before she forced herself to awkwardly cross her arms, a blush coloring her pale face a bright pink. "Anyway, well, I'm going to go up there now. Bye, Rose, Shirley!" She waved hastily as she turned to run back the way she'd come.

"It's good to see you again!" Shirley called after her as she went, receiving another wave in return.

She shrugged at Rose, who smirked slightly. "We'd best be getting to the gate, then," she announced, starting off to the south with the shorter woman quickly at her side. "I wish Belzac had told her who we're going to see. I don't like playing these… guessing games."

"I'm sure he doesn't mean to," she professed, her boots suddenly crunching into packed snow as they left the warm circle of the towers. "But it must be important; he'll have stopped class, too."

It was not very far to the south gate, although they had to go down several side streets to reach it. Vellweb had been planned to resist attack, and of course it wasn't very wise to leave an open avenue straight to the heart of the city. It quickly became clear to the two Dragoons that the townsfolk also were aware that something out of the ordinary was happening; there seemed to be more people than usual massing near the lower walls.

However, near the gates themselves the crowd had parted, leaving a wide slushy path open. Conscious that everyone would be watching the area, Rose and Shirley stayed to one side as they drew near. It was plain to them now what was causing the uproar: through the open gates flanked by town guards, a small convoy could be seen approaching over the fields of snow, fluttering orange and white banners high above the nearing group.

Belzac was instantly recognizable as he stood near the open gates, and Zieg was there as well; most of the commoners were giving them space out of respect for their high positions in the city. She was not surprised to find Kanzas absent. _It wouldn't be like him to care much about an important visitor,_ she thought, shaking her head slightly. Besides, he was probably still angry with her. However, those thoughts fled as she realized who, exactly, was arriving.

Shirley caught hold of the half-Giganto's arm to get his attention, peering around him, and her friend looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. "Damia found you fast," Belzac remarked lightly. "I thought _we_ all, you know, should be here to greet the lady before Lord Diaz arrives."

"She's not supposed to be here yet!" she gasped to him, standing back again.

"Yes," Rose put in, squeezing Zieg's hand briefly in greeting. "There's no way a messenger could have even _gotten_ to Magrad yet, much less returned."

"I don't know if it's good or not," the blonde man said thoughtfully, "but it certainly means it's started."

No one answered him, as they all understood his meaning. _But we aren't ready for this war, _Belzac thought, unconsciously reaching for his vest pocket underneath his cloak and closing his hand over his Dragoon Spirit through the cloth. _Not yet. I'd gladly die for Diaz and Gloriano… but I'd like to make a difference first!_

The sounds from the other side of the wall grew louder, mostly in part to the general hushing of the people in the plaza square. The flags on the ramparts snapped in the breeze, echoed by the matching standards flying above the convoy. The small group of riders seemed to be escorting a sledge pulled by two horses; most of them kept pace behind it, with a guard on each side. One man led the procession, sitting tall on his mount in front.

Hoofbeats on rock rang out, the snowy road giving way to the trampled slush near the entrance of the city, accompanied by the scrape of the runners of the sledge slowly coming to a stop atop the cobblestones. The first man reined in his horse, scanning the crowd with fierce dark eyes. He had long iron-gray hair spread out over his shoulders, and an equally long beard draping across his chest.

Zieg made a choked noise as he took in the figure of the lead rider, his own eyes going wide. "I don't believe it!" he breathed.

Standing in his stirrups, the armored man called out in a strong, deep voice, "We come from Fort Magrad! Who is here to greet us as we step onto Vellweb's stone?"

"Lord Tibero!" the Fire Dragoon yelled back, forgetting ceremony as he raised his arm in a wave. Rose's hold on his arm broke as he stepped forward, and with a noise half of amusement, half of annoyance, she followed him. "Lord Tibero, we weren't expecting you to come so soon!"

The older man's stern gaze broke into one of recognition as he sat back in the saddle, looking down at Zieg's smiling face. "Yes, that's apparent, my boy," he answered. "Well met, Zieg. It's been quite a while since I've seen one of my clansmen."

"Oh, has it?" he replied with disappointment. "I was going to ask how my mother fared…"

"I wish I could bring you news of home," Tibero told him, "but as you know, the times are keeping me from the south. It's likely you have been there more recently than I."

Shirley scanned the area as the two talked, looking for an important face. "Lord Diaz really should be here," she whispered to Belzac, standing on her toes as he bent a bit to hear it. "You sent a messenger to him, too?"

Belzac's pale eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Yes," he said, something oddly disapproving in his tone. "I did send one."

Before she could ask him to explain further, there was motion behind her, and she turned to see Syuveil and Shynn edging their way through the onlookers with Damia trailing behind them. They too came up to the side of the gate, joining the Dragoons waiting there. "I found everyone you asked for, Belzac," the girl told him quietly, grabbing his hand and tugging on it to get his attention.

He smiled down at her, squeezing her hand gently. Shynn hadn't been on his list for messages, but it didn't really matter that he'd come too. Try as he might, something in him just couldn't let him think of the man as being part of their circle. "Thank you, Damia."

"What's this all about, anyway?" Syuveil asked, adjusting the fall of his green and brown cloak. However, when he caught sight of the sledge and the two people inside it, his expression froze, his cheeks flushing red.

He took an unconscious step forward, but Shynn threw his arm out in front of his friend's chest, a reproachful look in his eyes. "Now wouldn't be a good time, Syu," the dark-haired man said in his soft, even voice.

Relenting, the scholar nodded, embarrassed, and fiddled with the frame of his glasses. "I-I know that," he mumbled, clearing his throat, and Shynn let his arm down, tucking his gloved hands in the crooks of his arms. When Syuveil looked back up, however, his gaze never left the hooded figure waiting patiently inside the sleigh.

Moments later, the other occupant stood up, lightly vaulting over the sledge's carved wooden side, and stepped forward toward Tibero and Zieg. Though he received many stares from the onlookers, the young man didn't seem to notice them. Even the Dragoons were taken a bit aback, as he was unfamiliar to them.

He was a Mininto, most obviously, but dressed much differently than most of his kind, wearing a black and green leather breastplate and bracers. His pink hair was cut into shorter upswept spikes, several strands trailing bone beads, and over his shoulder he held a sword, one-handed for a Human but obviously a greatsword for him. It had a curved blade and its golden crosspiece was in the shape of a four-pointed star.

"Yes, Matthi?" the Human lord said, catching notice of him as Zieg stopped in mid-sentence, startled by the small guard.

"My lord," he began in a clear voice, "I hate to interrupt, but are we to sit out all morning?" Tibero raised an eyebrow at him, and he went on, "I just ask, you know, because of the lady."

"Indeed," Tibero rumbled, casting his gaze toward the Dragoon at his side. Zieg turned slightly to give the others a questioning look, and with some hesitation Belzac stepped forward. Having been the first to find out about their arrival, he felt as if he should take responsibility for the formalities.

Belzac gave a half-bow, a bit flustered. "Of course, you are all welcome here," he began. "I'd hoped Lord Diaz would be here, but he must be delayed. He will certainly be in the palace, however, and greet you there."

"That is well," Tibero said, smiling only slightly; it seemed as if his rocky face was unfamiliar with the expression. He dismounted with a whirl of his cloak and handed his reins to Matthi, who gave the huge long-nosed animal a wary grin. "We shall go up to see him."

He turned toward the sledge, but then stopped upon seeing Syuveil already halfway there. The others saw as well, and Shirley shook her head in sympathy, knowing what was going on. _I wish things weren't so impossible for him, _she thought sadly.

"Lady Mille," the Jade Dragoon said, bowing toward the woman sitting there, light brown bangs dancing across his face in the breeze. "Please, allow me to assist you."

She inclined her head as well, giving him a smile. Though most of her face was shadowed by the large fur-trimmed white hood she wore, golden-brown eyes glittered out from underneath, shining with affection. "Dear Syuveil," she began, extending her gloved hand. "Of course you may."

He helped her to stand and then put his hands to her waist to lift her out of the sleigh. However, he stopped, startlement flashing across his face. Mille shook her head shortly as if to forestall a question, and Syuveil, his cheeks reddening once more, lifted the lady easily over the edge and down again as if she was made of glass. His hand lingered at her waist before he quickly jerked it away, hiding his flush with another deep bow.

"We will not have to go to the palace to greet our lord," Lady Mille announced, breaking the awkward silence as she gazed up the square, pushing back her hood to reveal dark brown hair adorned with an ornament of gold and tiny strung pearls. "He's come after all."

The sound of booted, marching feet in the slush rang down the avenue, resolving itself into another small group, and cheers rang out from the onlooking townsfolk as Lord Diaz and his armored honor guard swept down to meet the guests.

Most surprising to Shirley, however, was the sight of Kanzas walking at their ruler's side. Though he was still in his overlarge secondhand clothes, for some reason in her eyes he didn't look out of place, even next to Diaz's finery. He caught sight of her standing there in front near the gate, and after a moment's glance simply looked away.

"My friend," Diaz said to Tibero, who bowed to him in respect. "It's quite the happy surprise to see you here now. Clan Feld always manages to amaze me."

"I was hoping you would approve, my lord," he replied. "There will be much to speak of, later."

The bearded man nodded gravely, his crown catching the light with the movement. "There will be, but, as you say, later." As he faced Lady Mille, she dropped into a deep curtsy, but he quickly put his hand under her arm to raise her up again. "My lady wife," he greeted, his voice lowering almost unconsciously. "I am most pleased to have you return home after so long."

She looked down, her own voice thick and strained with emotion. "My lord husband," she said, "I am… overjoyed to come back to you."

The cheers of the crowd grew to a crescendo as Diaz and Mille shared a brief, chaste kiss, and Belzac couldn't help but glance at Syuveil, who was staring at the two, a painful half-smile playing on his lips. He wasn't the only one concerned about their friend; only Damia and Kanzas had no idea something was wrong.

"In truth," Diaz was saying, "we were not expecting you to arrive so early. Messages were only sent yesterday."

Tibero, folding his hands behind his back, told him, "We received no messages, Lord Diaz, but decided to make the trip in order to seek the safety of Vellweb's walls. Fort Magrad was no longer safe for the lady."

The lord nodded. "We shall speak of this later, Lord Tibero," he murmured, his eyes crinkling with his smile. "Let us instead celebrate tonight Lady Mille's return with a feast."

"That's what _I've_ been waiting for," Matthi said with a grin, flipping his sword down to rest its point lightly in the slush.

"A reward well-earned," Diaz told the young Mininto, "for your guarding of my wife." As if suddenly noticing Kanzas next to him, he looked over at the Dragoon and told him, "You and your comrades must be there too, Kanzas, I insist. Zieg, you and Rose must delay your journey until tomorrow. Tonight, let us celebrate." Diaz's voice grew soft as he murmured, almost as though talking to himself, "Let us celebrate tonight as if it was our last…"

Kanzas didn't know how to respond, aware of the onlookers, but Zieg came to his rescue, saying, "Of course, my lord, as you will."

Diaz nodded to him as Mille took his arm, placing his hand over hers gently. "You have come a long way," the lord announced. "We shall retire to the palace so you may rest."

There was a sudden flurry of motion as Diaz and the guests turned to go up the street toward the upper city stairs, the soldiers who had come from Magrad hurried to take the horses to the stables and to find room in the barracks, and everyone else suddenly remembered what they were supposed to be doing.

Kanzas let the people flow around him, waiting until the square was almost empty before walking toward the other Dragoons, Damia, and Shynn, who were all remaining in place as well. "So," he said abruptly, "who was that, anyway?"

"She is the light of Gloriano," Syuveil answered absently, obviously preoccupied.

The russet-haired man rolled his eyes. "Actually, all I wanted were the names." He glanced at the others, demanding, "All right, _now_ what's the problem?"

Rose shook her head, sighing. "They've come early," she told him a bit reluctantly. "Diaz would have only sent for them yesterday. Lord Tibero is to be the head general of Gloriano's army. It means that the Winglies are moving, I think, or something is making him nervous enough to bring Lady Mille here for safety."

"I see," he replied slowly, rubbing his chin.

"Well," Zieg announced, stretching his arms in front of him, "looks like we have a party rather than a journey ahead of us, Rose."

Shynn gave them a narrow-eyed look. "What sort of journey?" he asked, too suspiciously for anyone to answer him with the truth.

"Just an errand for Lord Diaz," the blonde man replied cheerfully.

The young fighter didn't answer, continuing to stare flatly, but the tension was broken when Damia spoke up, reaching up to twist her fingers into Belzac's linen sleeve. "Belzac," she asked in a sort of whisper, her other hand unconsciously smoothing down her hair, "do you think… you know, would it be all right if I could go too? To the party?"

He smiled broadly, looking down at her and nodding. "You are a servant of Lord Diaz, Damia," he said. "You're a messenger. Of course you can go."

"Oh!" she breathed, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Oh, wonderful!"

"We'll find you something suitable to wear," Shirley smiled, patting the girl's shoulder. She looked up, her eyes catching on Kanzas. _I wish you wouldn't ignore me,_ she thought. _How long are you going to let our argument fester?_

He met her gaze unblinkingly, and she said his name softly, questioning. With only the hint of a smirk, however, he turned to stride away, and in front of the others she didn't move to call him back.

* * *

Lord Diaz's great hall was filled that night with the sounds of a crowd's chatter. Though the midday meal was usually the most important of the day, the sudden news of the feast had required that it be skipped, and preparations for dinner had stretched on until evening. _The poor cook, _Shirley thought, smiling a little to herself at the thought. _She must have had fits when she was told._

However, the kitchen staff's hasty work had culminated in what was likely the largest meal Vellweb had ever seen; servants were even now bringing it up on serving platters. Long tables were arrayed across most of the room for the lord's elite warriors and his retainers, while another table had been placed on a raised platform at the back of the hall for Diaz and his important guests. A small group in the corner played music to entertain everyone while they were waiting, and some even danced in the limited space available.

Shirley stood to one side of the hall and looked out across it, the bright colors of everyone's finest clothes mixing and separating as men and women mingled back and forth. Her own dress, however, was a plain homespun white, though she'd brightened it a bit with a yellow girdle belt around her hips. She'd pinned her short hair back, tried to curl it as best she could, slipped some of her dried flowers into the pins and then given up; she felt dressy enough, however, and it was a nice change from normal.

Still, she wasn't quite in the mood to be festive, and so she stayed back in a corner to avoid conversation and especially one rather earnest young fighter who thought he was very impressive and wanted her to think so as well. He sought to accomplish this by talking about himself continuously, and, being too polite to brush him off, she'd only just escaped.

This event was doing wonders to raise everyone's spirits, Shirley noted as she watched them. Even the commoners of Vellweb were having their own gatherings tonight, as Diaz had declared a holiday of thanks and celebration. It would be needed, too, a voice told her inside, with the war soon to start.

She shook her head; however, a smile came as she caught sight of a unique figure among the others. She and Rose had come up between them with a makeshift dress for Damia, who was now proudly, but shyly, the center of attention wherever she went. She walked alone through the crowd, though Belzac, also quite visible, was never far away in case the curiosity about her 'Wingly' looks took a bad turn.

The shift she wore beneath a laced brown surcoat was too large in the neck and had fallen off her shoulders, and dark blue ribbons wound around her arms to hold the sleeves close. However, she'd refused to let them change the style of her distinctive hair, which still covered one eye and hung loose down her back. At the moment, the twelve-year-old was conversing with the musicians in the corner, who were taking a break. Whatever she said made them laugh, and she put her hands on her hips indignantly in response.

Curious, Shirley watched as one of them handed Damia a long wooden flute as if in challenge; blushing brightly, she hesitated a few seconds before raising it to her lips and beginning to play. After a moment most of the people stopped what they were doing to listen, the quietness allowing her to hear the song even at a distance.

The music was a familiar, quick and lilting street song, usually played by Humans who'd taught themselves an instrument, though Winglies sometimes performed it as a quaint folksong. After a moment, the other musicians softly joined in, drum and tambourine a counterpoint to the flute's flowing sound until Damia, flushing, cut herself off and handed it back to its owner.

"Quite good, girl," the flutist approved with a grin, but whatever she said afterward was swallowed in the sudden rush of voices that returned now that the spectacle was done.

Shirley agreed, wondering where she'd learned to play so well. Though the song had been familiar, there had also been an odd undertone to it that reminded her of something. Deciding she'd ask Damia about it when she got a chance, she searched the faces swimming through the hall for one of the others.

And then she saw Kanzas, not far away, speaking with an older woman, and bit her lip to keep from muttering something in surprise. _He startles me without even trying to,_ she thought, annoyed by it. It was mostly the fact that the long slit tunic Zieg had lent him was white, a color she would not have pictured him in at all. He'd not wanted to come at first, but he seemed comfortable now; whatever story he was telling the woman was making her laugh demurely, her mouth hidden by her hand.

She felt her lips twitch, and then jumped in shock as a hand from nowhere touched her shoulder. "Ah, so here's where you've been hiding," Belzac announced, not calling attention to her surprise.

"I still don't feel right about enjoying myself," Shirley answered, rubbing at her knuckles with her other hand.

The half-Giganto nodded slowly, taking his hand from her shoulder to tug awkwardly at his brown shirt, which had been pressed a little too much before he'd put it on. "I understand, but even so," he told her, "you should come out from the corner. You… look lovely tonight. Don't stand back here in the dark."

Giving him a thoughtful glance, she smiled suddenly, slipping her arms around his waist to hug him. "Oh, Belzac… thank you." She could feel him sigh gently, his arms loose around her, and decided not to pull back even though decorum dictated she should have by now.

However, the two quickly stepped away from each other as a servant approached and bowed toward them, beckoning them to take their places. Their friends were also being gathered throughout the room so they could follow Lord Diaz to be seated; the Dragoons were to sit at the high table with the lord, though the rest of Vellweb didn't yet know the reason why these people were so favored.

Diaz and his lady had just entered the hall to a fanfare, Lord Tibero behind them, and from around the edge of the room the others came up and proceeded behind them toward the platform as the other guests moved to take their own seats. Feasts like this also served to reinforce rank, as everyone was positioned according to station along the outside of the tables, which were in a U-shape to fill the large space.

This was why Shirley nearly stopped walking, almost tripping on the step as she saw Shynn join the procession next to Syuveil, just behind Zieg and Rose. For a moment she could only marvel at his daring, wondering if the steward, a guard, or even Diaz himself would stop him.

However, the lord had apparently decided the issue wasn't worth pushing, for the young man was shown to a place along the back of the high table along with the Dragoons and Lord Tibero, facing the others below. After all, she reasoned to herself, there was no need to bring up resentment during a feast, and he _did_ even out the number at the table, which would make serving easier.

Finding her seat was between Belzac and Kanzas, Shirley had to wonder how much of a coincidence the seating arrangements were. However, it was probably a good idea; after all, she was quite sure that the new Thunder Dragoon had no idea how to observe proper ceremony. Kanzas looked a bit ill at ease, but much to her relief sat very still, watching everything and everyone.

As everyone was seated, Lord Diaz and Lady Mille remained standing, waiting for the soft noise of voices to quickly quiet down, and the young healer's eyes went wide as she looked at them closely. It hadn't been apparent when she'd arrived, thanks to her cloak, but the green and white gown the lady now wore showed the gentle swell of her stomach, though it was mostly hidden by the draped folds swept up to hang at her middle.

_She's going to have a baby? _Shirley thought, startled. She wasn't surprised that it hadn't been announced, however. It wouldn't be a good idea to make the fact Mille was pregnant widely known in times like these, especially when such an heir to the leadership of Vellweb would be a good target for the Winglies.

"I thank you all for coming," Diaz announced loudly, his eyes bright; he loved speeches and ceremony. Mille's hand resting lightly on his, he lifted them both up higher. "Let us celebrate tonight what we have - what we have made for ourselves. Let us give our thanks!"

He looked to his right, and the young woman bowed her head momentarily in acknowledgement, the ends of her upswept dark brown hair falling over her shoulder. When she looked back up again, she clasped the charm of the necklace she wore in her hand before calling out, "Goddess Miranda, praise! We give thanks for this meal. We give thanks for our freedom!"

There was a loud echo coming back from the floor of, "Praise!" Miranda was Mille's patron goddess; she was a symbol of truth and purity and was very popular among Humans, who said she had been one of them before becoming an immortal.

"Weaver of fate, look kindly on us!" the lord of Vellweb cried next. The crown on his curly hair shone in the torchlight and he gazed across the crowd proudly. "Creator Soa, praise! We work for our glory on the path of your great design!"

The returning cry was a bit softer this time. Soa had sown the seed that had also brought forth Winglies, who claimed they were created to rule. Many people had become resentful of that, but, because Diaz gave respect to Soa, they followed suit with their prayer.

"And yet you praise only emptiness," Shirley heard Kanzas whisper next to her.

Afraid someone else had heard it, she grabbed his arm warningly. "Shh!" she hissed, though it seemed she'd been the only one listening. He only raised his eyebrow, looking over at her as if wondering why she was overreacting. She let go, flushing red, and shook her head silently.

"Let the feast begin!" Diaz shouted out amidst cheers of approval before he and Mille took their seats in the middle of the high table.

At his words, servants began to spread out to the guests, bearing large bowls of water that had been boiled with sage and then cooled. Everyone washed their hands, for not only was food eaten with the fingers, but the large flat bread trenchers and the cups were shared between two diners each, and it was very bad manners to eat with dirty hands.

Drying her hands carefully on the long edge of the tablecloth hanging into her lap, Shirley easily found where Damia sat at the trestle tables below, as the row of heads suddenly dropped lower in one place. The Mininto guard, Matthi, was next to her, keeping her attention with some nonstop tale he was telling, and she smiled a little at the sight.

Minintos were rarely found outside of their own villages in the south; they were also reputed to be mystics rather than swordsmen. She wondered what had brought Matthi so far, and into such a strange occupation. Lord Diaz, of course, had assigned a bodyguard to accompany Lady Mille when she'd gone to Magrad last spring, but he was obviously not around anymore.

"It is odd, isn't it?" Belzac said to her softly as if reading her mind, gesturing with a nod after following the direction of her gaze. "He must be good, though, if Lord Diaz trusts him."

Silent for a moment, Shirley suddenly felt a touch on her hand, turning to Kanzas. "Hey," he asked, leaning back slightly to draw her attention to something by a side doorway. "I've noticed lot of people talking to that man there. What's so important about him?"

With a small sigh, she answered a bit regretfully, "He's had to taste the food, to make sure there's no…"

"Poison?" Kanzas finished with a short laugh. "What a dangerous job."

"It's all watched very carefully," Shirley defended, tossing her head a little. "But there's no sense in ignoring the possibility."

He didn't reply as the trenchers were placed down for every two guests and cut in half, the steward and staff passing on the other side of the high table to bring out the first of the course, as apparently it was deemed safe to eat. There was plenty of bread, large loaves of dark rye and small buns drizzled with honey, and even small dishes of fruit preserves, rather a luxury in snowbound Gloriano.

The butler and his assistants brought flagons of wine and mead to pour into the hammered metal cups, always serving Diaz and Mille first. Mead was also brought to the tables below, along with ale and beer, even for Damia, as plain water in cities tended to be unhealthy and so fermented beverages were had by almost everyone.

Courses were cleared and new ones brought in as it was eaten; it was more food than many of the guests had ever seen in their lives. Silver platters - the sort Winglies commonly ate from - were carried laden with a variety of meat, from freshly-killed venison to smoked fish and herbed fowl. The last was a whole boar, brought out by two servants on a board and placed in front of Lord Diaz, who indicated which cuts he wanted.

As was customary, men served women and lower ranks served their superiors, so as the platters passed Belzac dutifully carved for Lord Tibero, whom he shared cups with, and Kanzas, trying to restrain his laughter, quite conscientiously did the same for Shirley, who could only frown at his amusement as she endeavored to remain polite about it.

Though the kitchens had been in a frenzy to prepare the meal in time, everything tasted delicious, the meat well-spiced and juicy. Salt, very precious, was only given to those ten at the high table, and sprinkled lightly as the salt cellar was passed from hand to hand. The conversation was light, everyone focusing mostly on filling their stomachs.

Zieg, sitting on the other side of Lady Mille, swallowed down a bite before saying, "We're lucky we hadn't left before this, you know. If you had arrived one day later, my lady, we'd certainly be missing it."

"Then I am glad we came in time," she returned with a small laugh, holding a slice of boar daintily.

"And where were you off to, Zieg?" Tibero asked inquiringly.

With a moment's silence and a nearly unconscious glance toward Syuveil and Shynn on her right, Rose answered him with, "Lord Diaz has sent us on an errand, sir."

Nodding, the Fire Dragoon supplied, "We are to… search for something that's lost."

"I see," he answered, ripping a chunk of buttered bread from a larger piece. After a bit of thoughtful chewing, the older warrior said musingly, "I suppose you know where to find it?"

"No," Zieg told his clan elder reluctantly. "Very little idea, my lord."

He turned in his seat, brushing crumbs from his dark-gray beard. "I am disappointed, Zieg. Have you not learned from childhood to look to the stars when there is something you seek?"

The younger man's hazel eyes flew wide. "Oh!" he said, sinking back in his seat and earning laughs from the others. "I forgot about it," he apologized, his face coloring a little. "I was never much good with astrology."

"Tonight would be a fine night," Diaz advised with a smile. "A fine, clear night. Perhaps the others would like to join you."

"Yes, sir," Zieg answered the unspoken command, clearing his throat with embarrassment before hiding it in another bite of fish. The others around the table sounded their agreement, though Syuveil winced when Shynn also spoke up, his eyes behind his glasses pained.

Shirley, paying attention to the others' conversations, reached for the cup of wine without realizing it was already being held. Her hand brushed Kanzas', but when she started to apologize he merely looked at her, stopping her voice in her throat.

He leaned closer and lifted the dull-metal cup for her and, as if entranced, she wrapped her hand around it as well to guide it to her lips. As she tasted the sour sweetness of the red wine, she could feel his breath against her ear, tension seeming to spread through her along with the warmth of the alcohol.

Belzac desperately cleared his throat on her other side, startling her, and she hastily downed the liquid, pushing the cup away. Kanzas chuckled softly, but her eyes flew to the table, and she refused to look at anyone until the servant came back to clear the meal and set out the last of the feast.

The last course was pastries, many filled with preserves and some with fresh strawberries, and she focused only on nibbling one of these, determined to act normally. Finally, when it seemed like another bite would be impossible, the last of the food was cleared away, the trenchers collected by an almoner who would distribute them to the poor.

And then, slowly, Diaz stood, looking out at the faces of the people below, who waited anxiously for the declaration. "Celebrate tonight," he announced simply. "This night is your own."

Shirley applauded along with the rest of the guests, pleased at how well everything was going and how happy the people were. She scanned around as she pushed back her chair, noticing that the two nobles had slipped back as a rush of people came forward on the floor below.

"Belzac!" Damia cried, pushing her way through the crowd toward the now-vacant high table. The girl was speaking excitedly, gesturing toward the corner where the musicians were.

Sharing amused looks with Shirley, the half-Giganto leaned down to hear her better. "What was that?"

Taking a breath, she tugged the shoulder of her shirt up again and repeated, "Shar, she plays the flute, you know, and she wants me to play some more too! Come listen, will you? I'm nervous!"

"Well, of course," Belzac got out, following after as Damia just as quickly darted back again.

Smiling to herself as she watched them go, Shirley shook her head, following the movement on the floor. These festivities were great excitement for people usually trapped in their houses on such long, dark winter nights as this, and the servants had barely cleared the trenchers from the tables before the benches were pulled away and leaned against the stone walls, the long tables themselves pushed to one side of the room to clear the space.

She'd quickly recognized this coming part of the feast, and was planning to melt away like Diaz and Mille when a hand suddenly caught hold of her forearm. "Wait, now," Kanzas told her. "Where are you going?"

"I don't usually-" she began, half-heartedly trying to pull her arm out of his grasp. However, he started down off the dais, still holding on to her, and her eyes flew wide as she realized what he wanted. Astonished, she stammered, "W-what, you don't want to _dance_, do you?"

"Sure. Come on," he said, tugging at her again; there was a small smile twisting his lips, his eyes somehow different, brighter, than she could ever remember seeing them. "Come on, Shirley. I haven't been alive in so long, I've forgotten what it's like."

That didn't sound quite right to her, though she went on as if she knew what he meant by it. "But - do you even know how to dance?" she tried to stall, reluctantly letting him pull her down the last step to the floor.

"No!" He grinned, chuckling at the sudden expression of alarm on her face. "I'll just do what the others do. Come on!"

Though she put up token resistance, two familiar faces among the dancers waiting for them in the large space made her realize it was useless. "I'm surprised," Rose murmured, raising her eyebrow at Kanzas as they approached. He returned her blue gaze with the same half-smile, inclining his head a bit mockingly.

The Darkness Dragoon was wearing an indigo tunic embroidered with gold, slit on the sides to the hip, a white layered petticoat showing beneath that gave the impression of being made from feathers. Her long hair was worn loose; a golden chain draped across her forehead, and a red silk rose was pinned like a brooch at her shoulder.

Next to her, Zieg wore red, a jacket buttoned tight over a white shirt, its collar opened wide. He gave Shirley a grin, thoroughly enjoying himself. "Good, good!" he praised as they followed the others and took up their positions in rows, men facing women. "I was afraid I'd have to drag you down here myself!"

"No, no more dragging!" she protested, a smile growing across her face as Rose next to her quickly squeezed her hand and dropped it. "All right, but not too long, Zieg. We ought to have the astrology done before it gets very late."

"Right," he agreed, rubbing at the back of his head awkwardly. "Just get it over with…"

A moment later, the music started, the beat of the tambourine sounding out the time. Shirley's gaze flew to Kanzas, who was glancing at the others out of the corners of his eyes, watching to see what to do. He bowed as they did, though one second late. _Well, here we go, _she thought resignedly, dipping in an echoing bow as the musician Shar's voice rose up in a song about a lovers' meeting.

The dance began slowly, the woman's voice filling the hall, counterpointed with Damia's flute; one step in and back and in again. Shirley raised her hand, Kanzas' fingertips pressed against hers as they circled each other. His amber eyes flicked to her only briefly, his jaw set in concentration as they returned to their places. She felt almost sorry for him, but it served him right for wanting to do this when he didn't know how.

As the drum came in the dancers stamped the rushes strewn across the stone floor, crossing to the left to circle another partner. Shirley returned Zieg's laugh as they spun around each other, feeling Rose's hair hit her arm as she spun with Kanzas to the other side. Back again with a stamp and clap, the women taking a step backward as the men stepped forward and then went back the other way. Both hands raised and touched this time, another spin, and another stamp in time with the beat of the drum.

The onlookers clapped along with the rhythm as the dancers on the floor moved faster, repeating their steps. Kanzas stopped watching the others' feet, catching up with the movements, and she couldn't help but smile at his look of pride. "But," she couldn't help but tell him as they met in the center again, "this is just one dance!"

"Doesn't matter!" he returned, smirking as they parted once more. The tempo sped up with the next repetition, leaving them no breath for words, the dancers weaving inward, outward and around. Finally, as it seemed it would be impossible to go any quicker, the last beat sounded, the last word fading away, and the two rows stepped back to bow to each other.

Laughs and voices surrounded them, more people coming down to the floor. "Oh, you can't stop now," Zieg announced, holding out a hand when Shirley looked as if she were going to step out.

"This is the most interesting thing I've seen in a long time!" Rose agreed playfully as she reached up to adjust the chain across her forehead.

Catching her breath and giving her friends a wry pout, she looked at Kanzas in question. He nodded, shrugging, and, with another smile creeping across her face, she joined them for the next dance.

Across the room, Belzac watched them, his expression emotionless as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He'd smiled for Damia when the musician from before called her over to play for them, had listened to her performance, but inwardly his chest felt tight and the smile strained. He hadn't even been able to chuckle when Matthi had come by and - rather knowingly, he realized now - joked about the meal having needed more dragon fat.

It wasn't the dancing that bothered him, exactly; he never danced at these kinds of occasions, feeling too clumsy and big to keep up properly. Shirley knew this, and usually she stayed back with him, claiming she didn't like dancing either. Yet he could see how happy she was now, teasing Kanzas as he tried the new steps and then beaming so brightly as he got the hang of it.

_This is childish,_ he thought strongly, hating the way he felt. _She's not a toy to fight over. I know she cares. I know it. Kanzas is just trying to provoke me with this stupid rivalry and I'm not going to think about it anymore! _

Shaking his head hard, he caught sight of Syuveil standing alone and forced himself to think about his friend's problem instead. The scholar had been in Vellweb less than a year, but almost right upon his arrival he'd met and fallen in love with Lady Mille, who was, of course, Lord Diaz's new wife. However, both his honor and his respect for the man he'd sworn to serve prevented him from making his feelings known. She had been living in Fort Magrad for several months, lessening the attraction, but it seemed that simply seeing her again was rekindling his feelings for her.

Edging a bit around the room toward him, Belzac sighed to himself. Though he would have counseled Syuveil to look for someone who could return his affection, he didn't want to give advice he wouldn't follow himself. The Jade Dragoon was standing next to one of the ale kegs, a drink in his hand, and the half-Giganto grabbed up a mostly-clean mug from the stack nearby to fill for himself.

"Hey, Syuveil," he greeted, taking a long gulp of the lukewarm ale. The brown-haired man turned slightly to return it, raising his own mug a little. "You don't seem very, what, festive…"

Shrugging, he gave a quirk of a smile in response. "I'm not too fond of these large gatherings, as you know. I guess I just can never get into the spirit."

And, of course, there was the other, unstated reason, but Belzac kept silent about that. "I can understand that right now," he commiserated. Syuveil had barely spoken during the dinner as well…

The younger man waved the wooden mug toward the edges of the crowd. His cheeks were a bit flushed, as if he'd been haunting the keg for quite a while. "Even Shynn's gone off somewhere, now."

Being so much taller than the others, Belzac could easily pick out a dark-haired man engaged in flirting with some attentive woman. _No doubt being at the high table helped his status in her eyes,_ he thought with a mental snort. "You heard about tonight?" he asked as if to change the subject, a bit more quietly now as he remembered that other guests were coming back for drinks. "The astrology?"

Syuveil nodded slowly, biting his lip, and then knocked back the last of his ale. "I just don't know," he said, drawing it out thoughtfully as he plunked the mug onto the table and absently tugged the wrinkles from his gray-green tunic, brushing crumbs from the silver-embroidered sleeves. "It's a good idea to help search, but-"

He knew; Shynn would be crushed if he discovered the Blue Sea spirit belonged to another, and Syuveil would be torn between his loyalty to his friend and his responsibility to support the last Dragoon. Things just weren't going well for him lately, were they?

At least Lord Diaz and Lady Mille weren't in sight - but, then again, that wasn't surprising either, given the lady's evident condition. Though he felt sympathy for Syuveil's situation, he also felt a guilty rush of relief that it wasn't him who was having this kind of problem.

_Yet, _a nasty little voice in the back of his mind cackled, but he pushed it aside angrily.

Squeezing his shoulder with one large hand, Belzac put down his mug and crossed his arms in front of him. Giving the floor ahead one last glance, he said, "Why don't we start up to the platform? The others will come along soon, and…" Swallowing heavily, he forced himself to go on. "And… well, I think we should do this without Shynn. After all…"

His head lowered in thought, he finally looked back at the Golden Dragoon, pushing his glasses up again without thinking. "I know," he answered quietly, levering himself away from the wall. "You're right. Hopefully, the answer will be good anyhow."

"Hopefully," Belzac agreed, moving forward to push a path through the crowd. Syuveil followed him, a little wobbly, as they moved close around the wall of the great hall toward the main entrance doors. _Though I wouldn't count on it, _he appended silently, feeling rather unusually negative.

A dance was just ending as they got there, and he waved across the room toward the others to let them know they were heading up. Rose caught the motion and waved back before turning to her fiancé, threading her arm through his. "Belzac and Syuveil are going to the platform, I think," she murmured near Zieg's ear. "We should go as well."

He nodded, looking at the other two as they broke from the swirl of people to join them. "Tired yet?" he asked brightly, brushing back his slightly sweaty bright blonde hair. "We're going to start up now."

Shirley nodded emphatically, filled with a pleasant, happy weariness. Though perhaps she would feel even guiltier later, she was determined to not let it touch her now. Rose's own gladness was helping her, and she couldn't help but admire and envy the other woman's strength of will. "Yes, I think I'm quite worn out," she answered, fanning herself briefly with her hand.

"It's not that bad," Kanzas disagreed mildly, cracking his knuckles as he stretched.

"How can you not be tired?" the red-haired Dragoon asked in mock-astonishment, cocking her head to one side. "It's almost been an hour!"

He waved a hand a bit flippantly. "Oh… training," he answered vaguely. "More than an hour before I got to rest sometimes, certainly." His harsh voice had faded into a thoughtful mumble, almost as if he was talking to himself. "Had to stand on one leg 'til I thought it would fall off…"

She blinked, a bit confused. "And when did you train?" she asked curiously. Brown eyes flicked to Zieg and Rose, who were starting to leave, before she went on, "I thought you were a… bandit after you… you escaped-"

"One year," he answered suddenly, cutting her off. "One year between. An island near Aglis where…" He shook his head hard. "Never mind. It has nothing to do with anything."

"All right," she returned slowly, feeling the chill now that she'd stopped dancing. She turned to follow Rose and Zieg, but when the other two had gone far enough toward the door, Kanzas reached to stop her, pulling her back toward him.

"Have you forgiven me yet?" he asked quietly, squeezing her hand.

A bit flustered, Shirley finally caught the thread of his question and answered, "I - there is little to forgive. You spoke the truth as you saw it. As painful as it is, I can't be angry at you for that."

Kanzas looked at her closely before raising his other hand to her chin, tilting up her face to the torchlight. _Just like her. Just like. _"I wonder," he murmured, "just what I have to do before you can no longer forgive. Before you shed your… holiness… like snakeskin…"

Frowning, she turned her face, his fingers falling as she broke away, crossing her arms lightly. "And yet _you_ are still angry with me somehow," she stated, "as I take your meaning."

He laughed softly. "Of course not, Shirley. Without your kindness, you would not be." _And without your weakness - perfect. _She gave him a hard look, and after a moment he raised his head, pointing across the room. Rose and Zieg were waiting by the nearest smaller doorway, intending to take a shortcut through the palace rather than cut through the busy room toward the main doors. "I think it's time to go up now."

"Yes," she whispered oddly, a perplexed frown knitting her brows. Was she ever going to understand him? "I think it is."

After a moment's hesitation, trailing her fingers down the white cloth of his sleeve, Shirley took his hand. Kanzas, still looking straight ahead, enfolded it in his larger one as they walked together to leave, the trills of Damia's flute ringing behind them with the music of the summer sea.


	8. Chapter Eight

Author's Note: I guess I'd better slap a minor gore warning on this for the end half of the chapter. I don't think it's that gory, myself, but then again I absolutely adored Biology class.

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

  
Chapter Eight 

A maze of hallways connected the great hall with other rooms of the palace, and the side door the four Dragoons had taken was leading them through one of these short, dark corridors. Unlike the huge, brightly-lit dwelling of Melbu Frahma in Kadessa, Lord Diaz's 'palace' was just one more tall stone-brown building. What was being built on top of it was much more important - the platform for the construction of the gigantic spear-shooter was located above, but at the moment it was hard to reach directly from inside.

Shirley was leading the way with Kanzas beside her, one hand on the wall of the hallway to help guide her steps. What torches were once lit here had gone out, and she hadn't quite expected it to be so dark. Behind them, Zieg and Rose were murmuring together as they walked, their voices mixed with low laughter, and she decided it was probably less embarrassing that she couldn't see them.

To the left through a half-open door, however, she could see a low light, obviously moonlight shining through a window, and quickened her pace a bit. There were new voices speaking from inside, and she frowned as they walked past it, wondering who it was; not everyone was really supposed to have access to these hallways.

"Just a moment…" Her curiosity getting the better of her, she let go of Kanzas' hand and paused, leaning against the wall and pretending to adjust the lace of her shoe which wound around her ankle. Giving her a vaguely curious glance, he kept on going, however, and she let the other two pass by before peeking in through the gap.

"-you need is rest," the female voice was saying quietly.

Shirley recognized it immediately; awkwardness flooded through her as she also recognized the next voice, Lord Diaz answering, "There's not much time to rest, anymore."

Their shapes became clear in the dimness of a little-used sitting room, Mille seated composedly on a long bench near the window, her hands folded in her lap, the nobleman pacing near an unlit fireplace. "But if you are unwell," she protested, somehow making it sound as if she hardly disagreed with him.

"My food doesn't sit well, that's all," the lord answered, waving it off as unimportance. Shaking his head and smiling gently, he turned back toward his wife, catching up her hands in his own. "You are the one who should rest, Mille. You must take care of the child."

"I am resting, my lord," Mille told him, her voice holding laughter in it, "just as you asked. Please, do sit down - your eyes are so dark, it's strange…"

Less firmly now, Diaz murmured, "It's the bad light here. The military meetings are tomorrow; I have to discuss with Tibero…" Whatever he saw in her face seemed to make him give in, and he knelt down slowly, shaking his head and blinking in the dimness. "You're right, I… should just rest a little, that's all. Just rest…" Leaning his head on her knee, he gave a sigh, biting his lip immediately afterward to try to hide it.

Nodding, Mille rested her hand on his head, her own light brown eyes drifting closed as if involuntarily. The Dragoon could hear her humming softly, the tune becoming recognizable as a hymn to the Goddess Miranda.

Self-conscious for listening this long, Shirley clung to the doorframe, trying to force herself to leave. It was heartrending to see Diaz like this instead of with his usual quiet confidence, and her lady's song to her patron goddess seemed almost… mournful somehow, and so different from the loud, happy tunes the people were singing in the great hall. _They_ would not expect this - and would be as disheartened by their leader's fatigue as she, rather shamefully, was right now.

Knowing she wasn't supposed to be there, she was glad when Kanzas came up quietly behind her, tugging on her arm to pull her away after he too gave the room a quick glance. Flushing a bit, she followed him back through the rest of the hallway to the others, who, thankfully, didn't ask why she hadn't followed them.

They headed upstairs toward the upper levels of the palace, recognized and allowed to pass by the few and slightly bad-tempered guards who hadn't been excused from duty. The rooms up here contained the lord's personal chambers and the quarters for important guests; however, one area at the end of the hallway also contained a strange room, its purpose unfathomable to those who didn't know what the construction on the roof was going to be.

Since Belzac and Syuveil were already in the platform room, there should have been no one else in the corridor at the moment, which was why the sound of a stray footstep on the stone floor startled the four Dragoons, making them spin around quickly. The sight of the Wingly standing there, almost directly behind them, instantly dampened the lighthearted mood as they reacted to her presence.

"Now don't you just look precious?" Fara drawled as if she hadn't noticed their anger and disquiet, reaching out languorously to pluck one of the dried flowers out of the the pins holding back Shirley's hair. Twirling it between her fingers, she leaned her head back, looking down her nose at them. "All dressed up for a party that, I may mention, _I_ was not invited to."

"What do you take us for?" Zieg retorted hotly, waving his arm in a slashing motion as Shirley frowned, reaching unconsciously toward her pins. "You'd just insult our customs, Wingly. And what are you doing here, anyway - uninvited?"

She clucked her tongue in mock-reproach, brushing an invisible speck from the fine weave of her burgundy dress. "Such harshness, child… what's the matter, did I interrupt you?" she laughed, flicking her dark-red eyes across the four of them. "Running off for a little celebrating of your own?"

Before any of the others could respond, Kanzas crossed his arms and told her, "You aren't invited to that, either."

"Kanzas!" Shirley hissed in embarrassment, giving his forearm a pinch; she immediately bit back a yelp as he pinched her back, albeit fairly gently. _What's gotten into you?_ she thought at him petulantly. The white-haired woman's blatant insults were a bit unnerving to her as well, as she'd previously treated the ruling Humans in Vellweb with only rather polite contempt.

Fara gave them a sneer as she watched; she recognized the man from their previous meeting, but deliberately ignored him now, turning her attention back to Zieg. "You're missing your little poppet, I see. No, don't look confused. I mean that poor Wingly-blooded girl you've trained to speak rebellion…"

"If you weren't so busy squinting down at us from your high horse," Rose broke in, her voice cool and even, "you would notice that Damia isn't Wingly-blood at all, Fara, and no concern of yours."

For a moment there was a hesitant stillness, but then she lifted the stolen flower in her hand as if to breathe in its lingering scent, the dried petals hiding her warped smile, her eyes resting only on the blond Human and not the one who'd spoken. "Poor Zieg… such a proud freeman, and the only woman you can come up with is Melbu Frahma's castoff whore."

Shirley felt horror descend on her, twisting her heart with the burn of unaccustomed hatred. Before she even had a chance to glance over at Rose, the Fire Dragoon had lurched forward, his face red with rage. "I'm gonna kill you for that!" he cried, fists clenched tightly.

"Oh, will you? I think you'll find someone else ends up dead-" The Wingly danced back from Zieg smugly as he swung, and a moment later the red-haired woman went after him, wrapping her arms over his shoulders in an attempt to drag him back. She wasn't surprised that Kanzas made no move to help, but wondered why he didn't all the same.

"Please, Zieg!" Shirley whispered near his ear, feeling her feet slide along and up off the floor as he tried to move forward again. "She's horrible, but it'll ruin everything if you-!" For a moment she knew she wasn't going to be able to hold him back, and then Rose stepped forward, laying her hand on her lover's arm. As Shirley let him go, he stood back reluctantly, his teeth still bared in a snarl.

"There's no need to avenge my honor," she told him, pale blue eyes boring into the Wingly's momentarily. Rose turned his face to her own, gently stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers as a small smile curved her lips. "Her words are meant to wound, but they don't hurt me."

The door at the end of the hall suddenly swung open, Belzac and Syuveil appearing in the entranceway. Unable to restrain a soft growl of anger, Fara crushed the flower in her hand, letting the papery petals drift to the floor as with her other hand she traced a sigil, disappearing in a bright flash of transporting light.

"Zieg?" the half-Giganto asked curiously as he ducked through, taking in the scene. "Was that you?"

"What was Fara doing here?" Syuveil echoed, scratching his head in unaccustomed confusion.

The others turned to face the newcomers, Rose and Zieg remaining in their embrace. Kanzas stared at them, eyes narrowed. Though he didn't know why, something in him despised their love, their quiet assurances…

"She was just being spiteful - but it's all right now," Shirley assured them, straightening out her dress.

"And we _still_ can't kill her yet?" Kanzas murmured to himself. More loudly, he said in a pointed tone, "As much as I'd like to stand here forever…"

Finally letting go of Rose, Zieg heaved a sigh, looking down pensively. "All right, let's just get this over with. I'm warning you now, I'm not that good at doing this, but hopefully it'll give us some kind of answer as to where the Blue Sea bearer is."

"What I'd like to know," Belzac mused as the Dragoons all entered the platform room, waiting to close and latch the door behind them, "is what you're going to _do_, actually. Do you just… read the positions of the stars or something?"

The room itself was rather large, filled with what were obviously materials for construction. However, they weren't the normal piles of stone and vats of mortar; shards of some kind of brightly-colored mineral sparkled in the light of the fluttering torches Belzac and Syuveil had lit and placed in sconces on the wall. Large windows were cut in the room's far wall, the gaps left open to let in the cold outside air and display a view of the night sky spread out over the city, stars twinkling in the darkness.

Pulling down one of the torches, the blonde Southlander handed it to Rose, shaking his head at Belzac as he gestured the group into a corner of the room slightly more out of the chill. "Nothing as scholarly as that. I just sort of… ask them. It's more, well…" he tried to explain, rolling his eyes upward as he fought for the words. "Well, I'd call it Humans' magic, actually. It's nothing like what the Winglies do, but it's magic all the same."

"I've never heard of anything like that before," Belzac answered slowly. "I don't doubt you, Zieg, but…"

"Well, I've heard tales," Shirley put in thoughtfully. "Someone who loses one sense, like sight or hearing, somehow occasionally develops another kind of… unnatural sense. I'd call that magic."

Kanzas cleared his throat suddenly, turned away from them. "Knew a man once," he mumbled, watching the sky. Suddenly, as if noticing they were waiting for him to go on, he turned his head, eyes almost glowing in the light of the veined moon visible through the wide window. "Just like Diaz for making freedom speeches. The Winglies cut out his tongue to stop that. But, eventually, it got so we could kind of hear what he was saying in our heads. Whisper, we called him. Weren't we so clever?"

_This must be one of the other slaves he mentioned, the ones in Aglis, _Shirley thought, placing her hand against his back as if for comfort. However, he shrugged to shake it off, and reluctantly she let it fall to her side.

Otherwise ignoring her, Kanzas went on testily, "Anyway, he had earth affinity, so he must have had Giganto blood, and you know how they are with magic. A real Human could probably do it better."

Belzac, without meaning to - and just as Kanzas intended - tensed up in offense, his eyes narrowing. Sensing the other Dragoon's anger, Syuveil coughed slightly into his hand and said, "Well, Zieg, why don't you just show us what you mean?"

"Um… okay," he replied reluctantly, unusually nervous thanks to his friends' interested scrutiny. "Astrology's much easier when I can actually see the stars, which is why Lord Diaz sent us up here, I think. Though I _could_ speak to them in daylight if I needed to… I guess that's where the magic comes in." Clearing his throat, Zieg held out his hands before him, palms down. "Rose is going to help me," he explained. "My element will help me focus…"

Almost unconsciously arranging the fall of her pale feathery skirt as she knelt down near his feet, Rose lifted the torch he'd given her beneath his hands with all the solemnity of a priestess at a ritual. "Go ahead," she whispered to him, her ivory skin colored by the warm glow.

Hazel eyes closing, Zieg frowned in concentration before spreading his hands outward; a shimmering plane of fire followed, the flame pulled in a sheet and almost liquid, so that it seemed to drip from the edges toward the ground. Standing up and drawing back, Rose placed the torch back in its sconce, turning to watch her fiancé.

In the unfinished room's darkness, the white sparkle of stars shone extra brightly, hovering above the film of fire. The constellations they formed were familiar, but they glowed with intensity unmatched in the sky above. The man, his eyes still tightly shut, began to move his lips, speaking soundlessly as his friends watched, occasionally looking at one another as if to ask what was happening. A minute dragged by as Zieg consulted the heavens, trying to find a clue to where their final member was located.

"Look!" Belzac said suddenly, pointing toward the window hole. Mirrored by the spray of white hovering in front of Zieg, two streaks of light flew across the sky, their paths meeting. Only one, however, continued its descent, seeming by a trick of perspective to fall into the city itself.

Frowning, Syuveil brushed his bangs from his view and muttered, "That's not… right…"

Letting out a gasp, Zieg suddenly relaxed his hands, the sheet of fire fading away with a faint hiss. "Why did they do that?" he demanded of no one in particular, wiping sweaty fingers on his pants.

"You'd know that better than us," Rose informed him quietly, her expression neutral. "What did they tell you?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "I told you I wasn't very good at this. The stars spoke to me, but I didn't understand much of what they were saying. I think, though - I think they meant the Blue Sea bearer is here, in Vellweb."

"Was that the falling star, then?" Kanzas put in. "There were two of them. Hard to believe they'd snuff out their lanterns just to, heh, give you directions."

"Then it could be Shynn?" Syuveil insisted, catching on the hope in the statement rather than Kanzas' pessimism. "The spirit could accept him after all."

Zieg shrugged, glancing at the others briefly. "It could," he told the Jade Dragoon carefully. "At least it means we don't have to leave to search, for now, anyway."

Shirley sighed, clasping the necklace of her Dragoon Spirit in her hands. "I wish I could be more help, but I haven't felt anything lately, I'm sorry. Not since - well, a while," she amended lamely, not wanting to bring up the events of the past couple of weeks. "And any of you…?"

"Nothing," Belzac told her unhappily, his sentiment echoed by the others. He scowled, rubbing the knuckles of one large hand. "This is very strange - but we do have a place to start."

"Yes, I didn't completely waste your time," Zieg chuckled. "Well," he said to Rose with nearly-false brightness, relieved it was over, "I think everyone's still enjoying themselves downstairs, and I'm not ready to turn in yet."

She made a face, thinking about it, and then agreed, "I suppose I could for a while…"

"Shirley?" Belzac asked, watching as she glanced toward the door. "You weren't thinking of bed yet, were you?"

Giving him a smile, she returned, "No, not yet. We can go too…" However, her gaze was focused across the room, her hesitation a question.

Painfully forcing himself to swallow, the half-Giganto murmured, "I'll wait for you in the hall." He hated the flickering glimpses of pity Zieg and Rose cast his way, brushing past them to go out first. _I know what they'd tell me… but they don't understand, even if they mean well. This is my problem…_

"Kanzas, a moment," Syuveil said suddenly as he entered her view, holding out his hand as if to stop the other man from going and then gesturing him aside. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I remember that you seemed interested in my studies when we met."

He remembered as well, the scholar mentioning something about trying to discern the nature of life and death and the afterlife, something that interested him a great deal. "Yeah," he answered warily, "I was - am."

Nodding, pleased, he went on, "I plan to do an investigation tomorrow, and the assistance would be most helpful, if you can spare the time. This sort of study doesn't much agree with Shynn, anyway…"

Dragging himself from surprise into the reality of the moment, Kanzas found himself slowly nodding his head without even wondering what it was Syuveil would need his help with. "Sure, I haven't got anything better to do."

"Thank you, friend. I'll meet you tomorrow morning, then," he said with a quick smile before slipping out the door.

The Violet Dragoon stared after him, an odd disbelieving expression crossing his face. As the others started to leave as well, Kanzas instead jumped up onto the ledge of one of the window cutouts, curling down to balance with his hands and looking out over the huge bare platform just beyond. His thoughts were once again confused. _I can't let - I know what I have to do - have to keep doing. What I _want_ to do. Where will their friendship be when they learn? There are no 'friends', not anymore. They died in agony, screaming, Divine Tree keep them keep them-_

Turning to look back over her shoulder, Shirley crossed her arms for warmth and asked him without surprise, "Staying here, then?"

He didn't reply until a moment before she moved to go find Belzac. "Hey, Shirley?" he asked suddenly, staring upward once more. "D'you think that… maybe they would forgive me if…"

"They who?" she prompted when he stopped talking once more. He looked like some gargoyle crouching like that, his borrowed white tunic shining in the light like a stone skin. "Forgive you for what?"

"Shirley?" Belzac broke in; he'd abruptly decided to come back for her and now just tapped her upper arm gently, his golden-brown hair fluttering in the breeze. He quite consciously ignored the other man, instead looking down at his friend's pensive face. "Are you coming?"

Kanzas blew out a hard breath of air, watching the mist curl around him in the cold. "Never mind," he told her, his tone suddenly growing harsh. "Just go back downstairs and leave me alone."

She paused, as if searching for a retort, but there was nothing. He smiled then, but only a little, as she turned sharply - and left him alone.

* * *

The upper halls of the palace were filled with pale daylight by the time anyone stirred the next morning - and most of the servants were waking painfully, their heads throbbing with hangovers, throats dry and stomachs queasy from the overindulgence of the night before. 

Tripping slightly on an upraised stone, a young maid braced her hand against the corridor wall and paused for a moment to yawn widely before straightening herself and knocking on the nearby door. Though she too was suffering from last night, she still had tasks to do.

When no answer came from within the room, she paused before trying the latch. As the door came open, she peered in warily before sidling her way into the darkened chamber - and, just a minute later, ran out again crying for help, all the color gone from her face. A small creased scrap of paper fell from the maid's hand as she scurried down the hallway, the message she'd been asked to deliver forgotten.

As it landed, it slowly unfolded, revealing only blank parchment inside.

* * *

"This," Syuveil was saying as he lifted his scalpel, streaking bilious fluid as he wiped it on a scrap of cloth, "is but one part of the study of life and death." 

"Right," Kanzas answered blithely, eyeing the cadaver of the white ape on the examination table. "The part without all the books."

Outside, day was ending, the green marble dome that topped the Jade Dragoon's tower glinting warmly in the fading golden sunlight. The two had been out in the snowfields much earlier in search of one of the wild northern apes that dwelt there, and it had been a bit of work to apprehend the creature without damaging it too much, not to mention hauling it back to Vellweb and to the upper city afterward.

They were both sunburned and tired; however, Syuveil couldn't put off his examination of the body for very long, as it was already becoming rigid around the jaw, and in the heat of the tower room the stiffness would only spread. He'd donned a leather apron to protect his tunic, wielding a wide array of instruments in order to find out how the ape worked. Giving Kanzas a quick grin, he commented, "Books give you a foundation, but true knowledge is gained only through practice."

Standing at the corner of the table, Kanzas gave a sharp nod in return, watching curiously but with a degree of wariness showing on his face. He'd agreed to stay, though Syuveil had excused him if he wanted to, but he hadn't expected to feel this edgy. The feeling was unfamiliar enough that he was half-convinced it didn't exist at all - and yet he knew its source all the same.

Scattered around the free edges of the slab were papers and books, diagrams of anatomy drawn and labeled in the scholar's neat script. Though he couldn't make out the words, the sketches of muscular structure, of veins and tubing and organs, were quite clear. Piles of matted grayish fur shorn away had sifted to his feet, the ape's chest cavity opened wide to reveal inner systems very similar to those of the Human figure on the paper.

"It's amazing; it's so like us, and yet not at all." Gesturing with his chin to the diagram, Syuveil carefully cut away a small yellow-white sac from the inside of the abdomen, raising it up to the light of the candles nearby. "Case in point: an unidentified organ," he announced, putting it carefully into a small jar of strong-smelling preservative. "However, Wingly anatomy shows overdeveloped glands that may play a part in the casting of magic; as most creatures can do the same, to a limited degree, it stands to reason such glands would be in evidence here as well."

Without even realizing it, Kanzas shook his head, wiping sweaty hands on the loose black pants he'd finally gotten back from the laundry. "That wouldn't be it, though. The major part for magic is in the back of the neck, under those - pointy bones there."

Giving him a quizzical look, he asked, "But you - you're certain? How do you know that?"

"I… know what insides look like," he rasped, half-deflecting the question. _Though not without the blood… _That part seemed to have pooled down inside the torso as time had passed, leaving the tissue Syuveil was handling merely moist, chill and clammy. "I watched Winglies - but, Syuveil, how'd _you_ learn to do this, anyway?" he went on, quickly changing the subject. He stepped back from the table, sitting down on a tall stool located near the wall behind him. "Shirley told me you were a slave."

After a long, thoughtful moment, he leaned down again, adjusting his glasses. "Yes, in Zenebatos. I was given to the young master when he first went away to school. He was a lazy child, and, like most lazy people, he worked harder to get out of work than he would to have just done it." Syuveil smiled a little to himself, using the point of his knife to slice back the membranes that held intestine coiled together. "He spent long hours teaching me to read and write so that I could do his study for him," he finished. "That was before it was illegal, of course. I learned everything he would not."

"I see," Kanzas responded, watching him skillfully free the tubing from the opened hollow. Chewing on his lip, he tried to force himself to ignore the tension forming in his stomach as he watched. It wasn't that he felt anything for the creature itself; it was just a monster, after all, a beast of a kind that attacked Humans traveling through the snow in order to eat their flesh, and regularly made off with livestock from outlying farms.

"My purpose in my own study, now, is to discover the workings of life and death. It is said that within the fruits of the Divine Tree, sown by Soa, all living things gained a physical form. That this," the young man waved a bloodstained hand across the corpse, "was formed by the Tree and is perpetuated through procreation. But what creates life itself? I believe it is the soul, more everlasting than flesh."

Raising his head, the Violet Dragoon rejoined slowly, "But we are also told creatures like this don't have 'souls' like intelligent species. Sub-creatures-"

"According to the Winglies," Syuveil disagreed, raising his eyebrow as he measured intestine by hand-length and marked it on his papers, "we Humans are sub-creatures. While they do know a lot, the Winglies have tainted their facts with beliefs. What _makes_ life, if not the soul?" he half-lectured, as if the heavens themselves would open up to give him the correct response. "When does the soul attach to the body? Why, when it has gone, can the body not be revived?"

"Can't it?" Kanzas whispered in return, an almost wild-eyed look about him that would have given Syuveil pause if he'd noticed it. However, the scholar was too busy with his investigations to look up.

_'Oh, gods! Mother Melanie, her heart's not going-'_

_'Shut up, girl! Savan, revive the crone - you damned Humans - so much work - there! Stop your crying, right now-'_

Feeling a bit numb, he stood up as if pulled, amber eyes narrowing at the cadaver on the table. Slowly, he crossed his arms loosely in front of him, fingers spread, eyes squeezed closed in concentration. As Syuveil straightened, looking at him oddly, he gritted his teeth and jerked his arms forward, snapping his elbows straight, clenching his fists.

Violet-colored electricity flickered along his arms, crackling outward in a wave toward the ape. As Syuveil watched in astonishment, the dull-purple heart muscle reacted to the shock, giving one single beat before falling still again. A faint smell of burning filled the air. "There," Kanzas murmured, sweat trickling down the side of his face to catch in his beard. "There. Did I… give it life again?"

"What did you _do_?" the dark-blond man asked, leaning forward with eyebrows raised.

"Humans' magic," he gasped. "Remember? It's easier when I'm fighting…" Syuveil, with one curt nod, leaned down again to peer at the organs critically. "It's been dead too long," he continued, swiping away the sweat with the back of his hand, "but that works if the heart has just stopped. The Winglies-"

Syuveil looked at him a bit impatiently, waiting for him to continue, but he had fallen silent. "The Winglies use that method?" he finally prodded, unable to hide his interest at the new information.

Kanzas finally nodded, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as he sat back down on the high stool. As he was hunched forward, the gesture looked less self-assured and haughty than it usually did. "You know they have rods that contain spells," he told the other Dragoon dully. "If they've… overused an old slave, they might revive her - him with that. Their own lightning spells… too strong. Sometimes… it-it works…"

"But, does this," Syuveil asked, his mind whirring with possibilities, "really return life to a body? Or is it merely preventing death?"

Clenching his jaw tightly, however, the older man refused to comment, staring at the corpse of the ape. He of all people was not squeamish, but there was something here that was making him ill, and it had nothing to do with calling the lightning. Strapped to the table, watching the instruments glitter in the light above…

_'Does this hurt? No? Here? And this? I see. And if we… yes, ah, yes now. And does that hurt? How much? Does it hurt, boy, or are you just play-acting? I'm warning you, if you continue to spoil my results-! Ah, yes, I see. That one seems most effective…'_

Footsteps sounded in the stillness of the room, and then the scholar was at his side, scrutinizing him from behind his lenses. "You look pale, Kanzas," he noted gently. "Are you feeling uncomfortable with this? Forgive my surprise, but you seemed very familiar with such research earlier."

Chuckling humorlessly, he returned with his own question, avoiding his gaze. "Was your old master _good_, Syuveil?"

"Good?" he echoed, confused. "Indifferent, I would say. I was valuable property, and not mistreated… but, I don't see why-"

"I lived in Aglis," Kanzas broke in, finally turning fierce eyes on his comrade. "I know about this… research because I was it. Me and seven others, one for each element… and one… for none. Like Dragoons," he murmured to himself, half-audible. "Powerless Dragoons…"

Syuveil frowned in thought, nearly pressing his fist to his lips, though he realized what he'd recently been touching and wiped his hands absently on his apron instead. "That sounds - where did I read that…? Oh," he finally drew out, "I remember now. The study of magic in the Human species - Azai's project."

He flinched at the name, his hands flying to the sides of his head as if he had a sudden migraine. "Yes, that Wingly bastard," he hissed, the tone so filled with venom that the other man took an involuntary step backward. Kanzas forced himself to drop his arms, color rushing back to his face. "How do you know about that, anyway? It's been years."

"It was considered important study," he answered hesitantly, "and I had access to the libraries to write my master's reports. In fact, I have a copy of the records somewhere…" Unnerved by the look he was being given, Syuveil hastily turned toward a shelf nearby, flipping through some papers. However, he quickly gave up, letting the stack fall haphazardly again. "I'll find it later," he promised. "Rightfully, it should be yours."

It wasn't as if he really wanted any kind of reminder of that time, but he gave a nod and took a deep breath, the smell of blood and the open preservative jars momentarily overwhelming him. _Won't make any difference… the dead are dead, no matter what I do now, no matter if I remember them or not. _"If you want," he answered in a monotone.

And then Kanzas felt a hand on his shoulder, making him tense, but he resisted the urge to look at its owner, not wanting to seem even more pathetic than he felt right now. "I think we're done here for today," Syuveil said in a rather false cheerful tone. "I can finish up another time."

"You'd better," he replied, letting himself smirk a little. "Before it rots."

The scholar shrugged in response, his hand falling away. "It won't rot, not outdoors in a Vellweb winter. I've been able to keep-"

A loud creak sounded in the tower's upper room, the myriad candles surrounding the table flickering as the tall door flew open, the figure of a black-haired man pushing hard on the latch. "Syu!" he cried, sounding a bit frantic.

"Shynn?" his friend asked, spinning to face him. "What's wrong?"

Though he started to answer, when his eyes lit on Kanzas sitting there he snapped his mouth shut, shaking his head. The Violet Dragoon merely raised an eyebrow at him, and Shynn's expression darkened into a frown. "Never mind," he snapped, stepping backward, his dark blue cloak swirling around him. And then, almost as soon as he'd come in, he slammed the door shut again behind him, its echoes sounding for a moment afterward.

"What's _his_ problem?" the russet-haired man asked to break the bewildered silence, standing up a bit shakily. Putting his shoulders back, he hid the weakness with a stretch, cracking his knuckles briefly.

Syuveil, though reaching to retrieve his instruments from the table and place them in a jar of water, was still looking at the doorway where his friend had been, a puzzled look clouding his green eyes. The worries that had been plaguing him the past few days suddenly seemed to resettle on his shoulders. "I don't know," he answered, his softly-accented voice thoughtful as he untied his leather apron and set it aside. "He doesn't enjoy dissections, but a reaction like that's not like him."

Kanzas snorted, secretly feeling a bit relieved when the other man snapped open a large piece of canvas, throwing it out on top of the white ape's remains. He half-heartedly began to help him straighten up a bit, though he mostly just ended up moving things from place to place. Finally, he started to say, "Well-" However, he never finished, falling silent as a high-pitched scream pierced the air…

* * *

Her breath billowing in clouds around her, Damia stopped at the top of the long flight of stairs to take a break, wrapping her green and white scarf more securely around her neck and pulling an edge of it up over her nose. The winter sun had already dipped behind the horizon, and the nighttime chill was coming on quickly. 

It was times like this, when the city loomed large around and far down below, when the wind blew through her hard enough to make her bones ache, that she missed the ocean most of all. Her thoughts drifted toward her former master's house not far from the shore, and though she was grateful to be free now, the twelve-year-old couldn't help but wish it was as pleasant here in her new home.

Now that she wasn't expected to stay in the school all the time, however, things were becoming much brighter. Though her new job as messenger wasn't making her any friends among the other children, who were jealous of her privileges, at least she wasn't forced to be around them constantly.

In fact, Damia was climbing the steps to the upper city once more, a slip of paper tucked inside her belt to deliver to the Jade Dragoon in his tower. The pale man who'd given her the message for Syuveil had looked vaguely familiar, and she realized she'd probably seen him before in the company of the Dragoons, which had made her a lot less nervous about going to do this without telling Belzac first.

Still, she wished the man had spoken to her while it was still light out. Though torches lit the pathways, there were fewer in the upper city, and the icy stairways were even more treacherous in the dark. She took the last few carefully as she got up to the landing of the tower summit, smoothing her teal hair down over her eye before pulling out the note and raising her fist to knock on the large, heavy arched door.

It never connected with the wood as a gloved hand closed around her wrist, yanking her arm back sharply and pulling her with it. The other hand slapped down hard across Damia's mouth, choking off her startled cry as the owner quickly dragged her down the stairs and onto the landing there.

She struggled against his grip, kicking as she tried to twist away, but her light boots slid across the slippery stone and he continued to hold her fast. He suddenly snatched the message from her hand, letting it fall to land with its corner wedged into a small drift of crusty snow.

Damia paid no attention to that, quickly realizing there was someone else there as a woman stepped out of the shadows to peer down into the girl's face. White hair glimmered in the moonlight, bright against the dark dusky sky, and Damia stared in further shock at the Wingly ambassador she'd met over a week earlier.

"Goodness," Fara breathed, smiling thinly. "This _was_ simple, wasn't it?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" the man said above her, his soft voice familiar because it belonged to the one who'd asked her to take the message. Twisting to try to look upward at him, she only managed to strain her eyes, catching a glimpse of his chin with the rest of his face shaded beneath a navy hood. He quickly forced her head back down again, barely glancing at her himself. "She's just an orphan child, hardly even missed."

"Yes," Fara answered in her deep, rich tones, "but a very special child nonetheless." Reaching out, though Damia flinched back and tried to turn her head, Fara brushed back the sweep of teal hair that had been covering half her face. A smirk grew as she revealed the scatter of newly-formed sapphire-blue scales trailing around her eye. "Very special indeed." She looked back up again, her tone growing flinty. "And you had better mind your manners with me, Human."

He made an angry noise, dragging Damia back once more and twisting her behind him, out of Fara's immediate reach; the girl was too surprised by the sudden move to say anything when his hand left her mouth, her throat locked up with fear. Even so, the half-mermaid struggled, trying to yank and twist her arm out of the man's grip. However, he was too strong, and held on easily.

She knew that no one else was aware she was here, and there was no way she could get down from the tower circle to where the guards were posted without being caught again. Whimpering slightly, she could only watch the quiet but heated confrontation.

"Don't expect me to act like a slave, Wingly," the Human hissed. "I'm not one anymore, and never again. I'm not here to cater to your whims; I'll hand over the kid only when you do what you promised."

Her eyes narrowed sharply, and she raised a hand up in front of her, as if threatening to cast. "You are treading dangerously, Shynn," Fara murmured, "for one whose life depends on my 'whims'. I did not need you to capture a mere child! My uncle has lowered Flanvel's defenses for me to teleport, and I don't have the time to waste before I leave this stinking city."

Damia choked back a gasp upon hearing the man's name, recognizing it as belonging to the man who'd sat with the others at the high table yesterday during the feast. Why was one of the Dragoons dealing with a Wingly? She wished she could let Belzac know… of course, she also wished she hadn't come here at all.

"Yes, leave Vellweb, conveniently forgetting me?" Shynn accused harshly. "You can take her when I'm sure you haven't double-crossed me."

"So says the Human traitor," the slender woman drawled, brushing her bangs back flippantly. "Very well. Show me this broken artifact of yours, and I'll see what I can do to reactivate it."

Hesitating, he reached beneath his cloak, pulling something small from an inner pocket of his tunic. Slowly extending his gloved hand, the man relaxed his fingers to reveal a dull sea-blue orb lying in his palm.

Fara's eyes widened, and both Shynn and Damia could tell that she had identified the Dragoon Spirit for what it was, though she tried to hide the recognition with a clearly false bored look a moment later. Instantly suspicious, the man moved to pull the marble back to his chest as the Wingly reached out eagerly for it.

Before she could touch it, the cold orb suddenly burst into life. Bright, dancing rays of blue light spun outward from the tiny jewel, blinding both Fara and Shynn with their brilliance, though Damia only looked on with awe.

Stumbling backwards, the dark-haired Human stared at the Dragoon Spirit with an expression of rapture on his face. "It's accepted me!" he whispered piercingly, his hood falling back and his white face lit up with the blue glow. He abruptly let go of the girl's wrist, not paying attention as she slid and fell on the icy stone. He lifted the orb to eye-level, his hand relaxing. "It's-"

With another spray of color, the spirit flew from his hand, shooting upward into the night sky. With a cry of dismay, Shynn reached for it, but much too late to grab anything but the remains of the mist it trailed. Reacting a bit more slowly, Fara let her shimmering energy wings materialize and jumped up to catch the orb, her fur-edged cloak flapping around her.

However, as she stretched out her fingers to grab it, the Blue Sea spirit suddenly reached the top of its trajectory and, slipping through her grasp, plummeted ever faster back down toward the two below. Damia, still half-sprawled on the landing, raised her hands up as the orb fell toward her, almost as if in a trance.

As she cupped her slim fingers around it, its glow grew even brighter, though she didn't blink as she stared through the light into the swirling liquid that moved inside the jewel. A deep voice, though faint and far-off, whispered a sort of greeting in her mind; silently, her lips moved to form a response.

"No!" Shynn hissed. The word came so harshly that Damia's head jerked up, her ruby-colored eyes going wide. "No! How dare you! That's mine! It's _mine_!"

She tried to scramble to her feet as the man spun on her, reaching inside his cloak once more, and finally lurched upright just as he yanked a dagger free and raised it above her. Her feet slipped on the ice as she tried to run, though it actually saved her; Shynn stabbed his blade deeply into the half-mermaid's shoulder and tore it out again, missing her throat as she fell. She screamed in pain and terror, raising her other arm to vainly shield herself as he moved for another blow.

But, as he crouched down, the heavy door to the tower above slammed open, revealing Syuveil and Kanzas standing in the entranceway. For an instant everything froze as they took in the scene, Fara flying above and the man holding a dagger that gleamed in the light of the unsetting moon. Though the dim light obscured the upper stairways of the towers, dark splotches on the ice and snow revealed the blood that had been spilled.

_Well, _Kanzas thought in amusement, keeping a little behind the Jade Dragoon for the moment, _this is certainly going to be interesting._

"Shynn!" Syuveil cried in a strangled voice. "What - what…?"

Forcing herself into a painful crouch, Damia looked frantically up at the dark figures outlined in the candlelight shining from inside the tower room. "Help me!" she pleaded, falling back against the inside of the staircase arch, her hand pressed hard against her wound as she tried to hold back her sobs. "He's trying to kill me!"

"It's mine!" Shynn howled, making a chopping gesture, staring up at his friend. "She _took_ it from me! It's mine! It accepts me! Have I not always been faithful? Haven't I promised to fight? Haven't I been loyal? I am the Dragoon, me! It's mine!"

Choking down a breath of air, the scholar shook his head hard, his hands clenched. "Shynn…!" His gaze caught on the shimmery figure of the Wingly hanging before him, and his expression suddenly hardened. "You did this, Fara, didn't you?" he accused her. "You've… cast some kind of charm…"

Not even giving her a chance to respond, Syuveil shoved back past Kanzas into the tower, quickly grabbing hold of his spear from where it sat propped next to the doorway. Even as he ran outside again, he called on the power of his Dragoon Spirit, the ghostly images of green leaves swirling around him to form the winged armor. Pushing off with one foot from the edge of the stone staircase, he let out a growling cry and dove straight for Fara, his spear braced in front of him.

The Wingly, though stunned by the sight of the Dragoon armor, was quicker, twisting out of the way and flying ever higher. Syuveil, however, spun upward after her, so fast it was hard to see just how he turned. He hit her hard in the chest with the shaft of the spear, but she kicked back from him, hurt by the strike, and her face filled with anger.

Dragging his eyes back from the sky, Kanzas decided that Syuveil shouldn't get to have all the fun. He slowly descended the stairs to the second landing, his gaze fixed on Shynn, who still stood where he'd been when interrupted, a blank look on his face and the dagger upraised as he watched his friend attack Fara.

Sliding his hand around the comfortable grip of his claws, he felt a grin start to spread across his face. He wanted to _hurt_ someone - if it would erase the uncertainty he'd just been feeling, make the pain go away- "You'll do," Kanzas said to the black-haired man with a chuckle.

"What?" Shynn answered coldly, dragging his attention to the Violet Dragoon, who stood there bare-armed in the chill, his claws raised in an almost casual attack stance.

Damia, taking a chance, used Kanzas' interruption to push past her attacker and down the last set of stairs to the tower ring. However, she didn't continue running for safety, but instead turned to watch what was happening, her hand staunching the flow of blood from her wounded shoulder and the other firmly clenched around the spirit, which still glowed with a pale light. It was obvious that neither Shirley nor Zieg were up here, else they would have come out by now, and she was too in pain to run down to the lower city alone.

Neither of them had paid her heed, and Kanzas shrugged at the man as if the answer was plain to see. "Fight me, of course. I don't like you. You're obviously just a sore loser."

There was a flash of light and a cry from above; Shynn flinched, looking up to see a spinning hail of rock engulf Syuveil. The force of the spell had driven him back several feet, but he pulled back upright, looking a bit battered but mostly unhurt. "Keep your ignorance to yourself," he answered shakily, returning his attention to the stairs and moving to the defensive.

"You heard me," Kanzas went on, now advancing slowly. His spirit, still bound against his wrist, was informing him of the birth of a new Dragoon, and from the man's earlier diatribe, he was sure the Blue Sea spirit hadn't chosen Shynn. "Your _loyal_ friend fights her, thinking she made you do it, but he's wrong."

"You don't know anything about it!" Shynn cried back, brandishing the dagger wildly. He shook his head, his lips twisted into a rictus. "Come on, then, if this is what you want!"

Raising his arm up before the other man had even finished speaking, he crouched forward, snapping the claws outward in a sweeping motion. Startled, Shynn stumbled backward, thin lines of red beading up along the right side of his face. Splotches of angry color darkened his skin, and he made a hissing noise, ducking to avoid the next swipe.

Kanzas was attacking almost indifferently, as if it wasn't worth the effort, making his opponent's rage grow. Shynn's preferred weapon was a double-bladed sword, with a much longer reach than the dagger he now held, but he'd left it behind to avoid suspicion. However, he was quite fast, able to dodge or parry the Dragoon's attacks even though he couldn't make any of his own. Occasionally, he would glance upward at the battle above them, his distraction earning him another cut or a tear through the fabric of his cloak or tunic.

Fara, unsure of the extent of the power of the armor Syuveil wore, was simply trying to keep her distance from him, throwing spells when she had a chance. The Wingly 'ambassador' wasn't used to an enemy who could fly along with her, matching her moves; with her uncle being Faust the magician, Melbu Frahma's right hand and greatest rival, few of her own kind had dared to challenge her.

She'd learned to fight with stinging words rather than a weapon, but nothing she said seemed to affect the Jade Dragoon's rage except to intensify it. She drew back as he hurtled forward, sprays of energy bursting from the span of his wings, but even as she twisted aside he let his spear fall as well, one of the points etching a long, jagged cut across her forehead.

"You are a fool," Fara hissed as she quickly turned to face him, blinking away the blood that trickled into her eye. "I am not the one you should be attacking! Your friend has betrayed you willingly!"

"I'm supposed to believe that?" Syuveil snarled back, shaking his head. His leaf-green eyes had contracted sharply to the pupil, giving him a wild, almost insane look that contrasted oddly with the spectacles he wore. "Believe _you_ over my childhood friend?"

It was like nothing the Wingly had ever seen before, especially in a Human, whom she'd always believed were hopelessly peaceful and weak. In fact, it was almost as if he was feeding off his anger, using it to power that Dragoon armor she still didn't know enough about. Biting her lip with unaccustomed fear, she gathered a ball of silvery energy in her hand and sent it shooting toward him.

Syuveil, red-golden wings flapping hard, jerked to one side as the shot flew by him, but a moment later a gaping cut opened along his jawline, the blood welling out to spill down his neck. With a slight hesitation as he braced himself against the pain, he drew his spear to one side and bowed his head.

Fara, about to use the opportunity, stopped in midair as a pale pink petal drifted past him out of nowhere. She held her arms in front of her defensively as the shower of petals intensified, expecting them to burn her as they flew by, but they were merely insubstantial, clouding her vision. "Blossom Storm!" she heard the man cry from within the morass of flowers.

"Impossible!" she gasped out, watching the outline of an orb take shape around him and then vanish, though its protection obviously remained. "Humans cannot do magic!" Raising her hands above her head, her long white hair twisting and spinning behind her, she traced a large, powerful sigil, feeding it as much power as she dared. "Suffer for your blasphemy!" the Wingly woman screamed as the dark-blond Dragoon was surrounded with jets of white-hot flame.

"_Syuveil_!" Shynn screamed below, staring up at the ball of fire that had just been the figure of his friend; his attention was immediately jerked back as Kanzas punched him hard to the jaw with his off hand. Trying to regain his footing, he slipped backward, tumbling down the stairs to the tower ring itself. Damia shrieked as he fell at her feet, stumbling back out of the way as Shynn dragged himself upright again.

The russet-haired fighter descended slowly once more, flexing his fingers. Although he'd seen what was going on above, he didn't seem to care much about it. "Pathetic," he spat, giving a smirk as he goaded the other man on. "Just accept the truth - the dragon didn't want you. It's _fate_. Stop crying about it," Kanzas sneered, inwardly laughing at the way his words instantly fanned the dying anger within his opponent. "Yeah, maybe Soa wants us to lose, but whether or not it's a good idea, Damia's the Dragoon. Not you! This kid deserves to rule dragons more than you do!"

His breath coming faster and faster, Shynn glanced upward once more, watching as Syuveil spun outward from the flames, trailing little tongues of fire as he shot straight for Fara, his spear braced before him like the point of a burning arrow. Gray eyes snapping back to Kanzas, he leapt forward, howling, "No-!"

Fara, frozen in shock, couldn't move as the Human flew toward her, very much alive despite the inferno that should have melted flesh from bone. For a moment, as the gigantic double-bladed spearhead pierced through her torso, that shock was still the only thing she could feel. However, that moment was short-lived.

Flung back with the momentum of the blow, the Wingly's body arched backward as if to accept the spear deeper, the fire inside her now bursting free as the weapon slammed out through her lower back. She grasped onto the ornately-carved shaft of the spear, staring into astounded green eyes as Syuveil shifted his grip to account for her sudden weight. She could feel it as her wings behind her began to flicker, the life energy that sustained them fading.

"You can kill me… but your lord… still falls…! Sooner than… you'd wish…" The woman shook her head with an effort, blood spilling from her mouth as she spoke, her eyes rolling back in her head.

He blinked back, confused by what she'd said. His mouth had gone dry, and his tongue seemed to have cleaved to the roof of his mouth. "Soa, no!" Syuveil whispered, suddenly looking at the fight down below, his voice rising into a scream as he saw something else to worry him. "Stop! No, don't-!"

Shynn, enraged by Kanzas' words, was running straight for him, dagger held steady; the other man stood, waiting for him. Syuveil's cry came too late as the other Dragoon unexpectedly kicked upward, his boot landing hard in the middle of Shynn's chest and knocking him backward.

Sliding back across the icy stone, he collided with the half-mermaid, and, clutching at her as if to slow his fall, plummeted over the inner curve of the tower walkway. His fingers caught the edge of the path and then, all at once, slithered away.

Damia's horrible panicked shriek rang out and then faded from hearing; Shynn did not make a sound.

Syuveil could no longer keep a hold on the spear, and both his weapon and Fara's corpse dropped down to the tower ring and landed heavily in a drift of snow, all but forgotten. Though he wanted to dive down after them, he could feel his power fading, and he knew that if he tried his armor would vanish and he, too, would die.

Stepping quickly to the edge, Kanzas put a foot up on the low rim and peered down, to all outward appearances emotionless. However, his fists were clenched at his sides, a tic in the muscle of his cheek betraying his dismay. He remained standing there, staring toward the lower city, although there was nothing to see; after all, it was dark, and it was a _long_ way down…

And then a bright streak of blue flashed below, shooting upward. An instant later the form of Damia arced toward him, throwing her arms around his neck with a terrified cry. She was wearing the lightweight Blue Sea armor, her crystal-white wings flapping behind her as she knocked him back a step, forcing him to catch hold of her as he tried to remain standing. Her need had summoned her Dragoon power without its being charged first, saving her life as she fell.

For just a second, his amber eyes wide, Kanzas let her cling to him before grabbing at her arms and prying her away. "Hey, get off," he grumbled, dropping the slender girl to her feet. She was still bleeding from the stab wound in her shoulder, and he could feel the heat of her blood and tears quickly chilling against his collarbone.

Shaking in relief, Damia slid down to her knees and hung her head in exhaustion, a blue glow surrounding her as she detransformed. "That was so scary!" she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. Syuveil touched down behind them almost at the same time, his Dragoon armor disappearing as well in a similar burst of light.

The young man walked slowly up to the edge of the circle path, staring into the darkness below before crumpling to all fours in the snow. "Shynn," he whispered, shoulders beneath his gray tunic trembling, the cut on his face weeping more blood. "I don't believe it. I don't believe it…"

After a moment's wary silence, the teal-haired girl looked up with reddened eyes. "You didn't help us!" she accused Kanzas.

He hadn't really had a lot of time to react to their fall, though it wasn't worth explaining that. "I don't see why I should spare a traitor. Besides," Kanzas explained with a mocking grin, "he'd already killed the dragon for you. It wouldn't have been fair for _you_ of all people to gain your spirit without surviving some kind of challenge."

Syuveil tensed at his words but said nothing, still unblinking. Damia, however, gaped up at the other man, her hand unconsciously reaching to cover her wound. "B-but…" she stuttered, unable to wrap her mind around the idea that he might have purposely let her fall. "That was so scary. I could have died!"

Kanzas snorted derisively, unimpressed, and waved as if to brush away her concern. A handful of cold white flakes drifted down gently from above, the first of a coming snowfall. "Name me one moment in your life when you can't die, kid."

Unable to answer, she gave him a hurt look. "You're terrible," she muttered miserably, her gaze falling upon Syuveil's curled form.

Swallowing hard past the lump in her throat, Damia crawled slowly toward him, her heart racing in fear at the sight of the path's rim she'd just gone over. Shynn had held onto her as they fell, but, as her wings caught her, the jolt of stopping had knocked him free. She barely knew Syuveil, but she still felt sorry for him, feeling in some way that the loss of his friend was all her fault.

His begrudged tears, salty and hot, stung his cut as they trickled down the curve of his cheek. For a moment he was aware of nothing but the cold and the endless fall of the snow until a small hand touched the back of his head. Though he tensed, Syuveil didn't move, feeling Damia's fingers threading gently, comfortingly through his messy, singed hair.

Kneeling down next to him, the girl kept her eyes averted from the darkness below, instead watching the other Dragoon's face. "I'm sorry," she whispered, holding out the Blue Sea spirit in her other blood-covered hand. "I didn't mean for - I didn't ask for it… if I could give it back, I would!"

Slowly, he sat back up on his knees, question-filled eyes turning to Damia as he closed her fingers over the spirit. "No," he answered hoarsely, "the dragon accepted you. I just wish…" Trying to clear his voice, he went on, "I just wish I knew why this happened."

"And why were you up here, anyway?" Kanzas broke in, scratching his beard.

Feeling their attention on her, she ducked her head, mumbling, "That man… Shynn… asked me to bring a message to you, Syuveil." She patted for the paper in her belt, but it wasn't there, and she didn't bother looking around for it. "When I came up to bring it, he grabbed me. The Wingly wanted to take me with her when she left. I don't know why…"

Cold fingers gently touched her face, making her gasp as the blonde scholar turned her head to look at the scatter of scales along her eye that she'd been trying to hide with her hair. Damia's pale skin flushed a bright red, and she looked away from him quickly. "To make you a slave again," he answered her quietly. "Or worse, bring you to Aglis."

There was a hiss of anger from Kanzas, though he covered it up a moment later with a slight cough. "So," the bearded man asked, crossing his arms as he started to feel the cold again, "what was Shynn supposed to get out of it?"

"I don't know," Damia answered, frowning as she tried to sort out what had gone on. "I think he wanted her to… to fix the jewel, or something. But when she tried to grab it, he took it back… and it started to glow. It flew up and then came down to me."

"I…" Syuveil sighed, slamming his hands down into the snow. "Damn it! I don't understand! What were you _thinking_?" he shouted down toward the lower city, his teeth clenched.

Damia, her face drawn with pain, put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry…" she told him again, closing her eyes.

He turned suddenly to wrap his arms around her, but at her gasp he let go, seeing the blood-soaked tear in her tunic. "We should get you to a healer," the young man stated, his jaw setting as if he was armoring himself against the hurt he felt. Levering himself back up to his feet, he picked the girl up, arms at her back and under her legs.

She held onto him tightly, still avoiding looking down, and said shyly, "You're hurt too, Syuveil."

Kanzas, annoyed by the two's comforting, had gone over to where Fara lay and jerked the spear from her chest. It was now much smaller, as it had changed back to normal as well. "Hey," he called, lifting it to his shoulder and turning as the Jade Dragoon stepped away from the walkway's rim, "what do you want to do with this? The other Winglies aren't going to be happy."

"Leave her," he murmured vaguely, shaking his head; Damia nestled her own against his shoulder, an odd look on her blushing face. "It doesn't matter, really. We're going to war whether she's dead or not. I'll send someone to take care of it…"

As Syuveil and Damia passed to head down to the lower city, Kanzas turned back up the steps toward the open door of the tower, carrying the spear with him, intending to grab his jacket before going down as well. A dark shape in the snow on the second landing caught his eye, and he stooped briefly to snatch up a slip of paper lying there.

Inside the tower, the russet-haired man dropped the spear to the stone floor uncaringly and shrugged into his coat before unfolding the note he'd found. The sheet was covered in a cramped script, and he leaned down near the light of a candle on the desk, trying to decipher it, as he couldn't read very well and the handwriting wasn't helping. His brows furrowed, his lips moving as he slowly puzzled out the words, and then he straightened suddenly, jamming the paper into his pocket.

This was not good.

Not even bothering to tug the large tower door shut, the Dragoon skidded his way quickly back down the stairs to the tower ring and the form sprawled there, staining the snow. Kanzas pushed Fara's body over onto its back, bracing his hands on her stiffening shoulders. He leaned down above a face twisted and frozen into an expression of agony, staring deeply into eyes glazed with death.

In the dim light, they were the very color of drying blood, looking upward into nothingness - the beautiful, dead eyes of the Wingly who had poisoned Lord Diaz.


	9. Chapter Nine

Author's Note: This is a basically a very dark, depressing and angsty chapter, so be warned of that.

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Chapter Nine 

"Why isn't it doing anything? Why can't I _do_ anything!" Shirley, kneeling on the floor, moved to slam her fist down on the edge of the bed, but caught herself before it hit, dragging her arms back close to her and crossing them tightly. The glassy surface of her Dragoon spirit orb felt slick inside her clenched hand, its glow faded.

She felt Belzac's hands on her shoulders as he knelt behind her, his arms soon sliding around to enfold her in an embrace. "Shirley," his voice pleaded from just above her head, "you've been trying all day. You've halted the poison; there's nothing more you can do right now…"

Her chest tight, she merely shook her head, looking with reddened eyes at the figure of Lord Diaz, still and quiet and very pale in the dim candlelight, lying in the bed. Sticky, dark bile colored the corners of his mouth, and the skin around his eyes looked bruised. She'd tried, so many times, to cleanse the Human leader of the toxin in his veins, but despite all her efforts, she had only managed to keep him from dying.

Lady Mille, in her adjoining chamber, had also been affected, but not as badly. However, in her condition, the consequences of the poisoning could be even worse. Rose and Zieg were sitting with the young woman, attempting to make her comfortable as she writhed and tried to bear the pain wracking her inside. As with Diaz, Shirley's power had only stopped the spread of the poison, but it couldn't eradicate it from their bodies.

The thought that whatever this was could resist all the healing magic of the White-Silver Dragon was making Shirley's heart ache. The tears had come long ago, no matter how she'd tried to hold them back; the four Dragoons had been in constant vigil over their lord and lady since they'd been found by a maid around midday. "He's in death-sleep," she whispered to the half-Giganto, dropping the orb and raising her hands to clutch at his arms in front of her. "Why can't I-"

"Shh," he murmured back, rocking her ever so gently, his large frame curled protectively over her. "This isn't your fault."

_But I still can't help! You don't understand…_ Half-heartedly, she tried to struggle out of his grasp, but he held on, refusing to move, and finally she just slumped forward over his arms. "I thought," she whispered, barely audible, "that I could heal everything."

"Shirley-"

As if she couldn't hear him, she stared down at the glassy silvery Dragoon spirit, hanging from its chain to rest on Belzac's forearm. She'd received her power when she was fourteen, and she'd used it to heal ever since then, though she hadn't actually worn her armor until much more recently. What if she really wasn't worthy anymore? She'd been thinking selfishly of her own problems lately, and she'd killed an innocent…

Slowly, Shirley reached out to grab hold of it again, threading her fingers together around the orb. "Please, White-Silver Dragon," she mouthed. "Please, heal my lord… heal Diaz…"

The other Dragoon shook his head, though he knew she couldn't see it, watching the glow spill from her hands once again. And, once again, it did nothing. Hearing the sound of his beloved friend trying her hardest to choke back her sobs, Belzac pulled her back tightly against his chest. She twisted in his arms to hug him, hiding her face behind her tangled red hair, her fingertips almost painfully pressed into his sides. "I'm sorry… I'm such a _child_," she gritted out, barely audible against him.

He didn't reply, merely holding on and staring down at the floor. He wished Kanzas and his stupid tirade hadn't made her so ashamed to cry.

They sat there for a few minutes before the door to the other room opened. Zieg entered the lord's chambers carrying a shallow clay basin cradled against his chest, a lit candlestick in his other hand. He gave Shirley a sympathetic look, stopping halfway across the room; she tensed slightly when she realized he was there, but soon decided she didn't care enough to bother moving.

Belzac, turning his head, asked him, "How is Lady Mille doing now?"

He sighed, "She's fighting it, I think. There seems to be less of that… black bile coming up."

Nodding, he went on reluctantly, "And the baby?"

Zieg's silence said everything for him, but finally he mumbled, "It doesn't look very good. Rose says she might lose it, but it's all right, too, at least for now." Scowling down into the basin, the blonde man shook his head and went on, "Any sign of the others, yet?"

"Not yet," the half-Giganto answered, rubbing Shirley's back gently. "The last I saw Matthi must have been two hours ago." They'd sent the Mininto guard out earlier to wait for Syuveil and Kanzas, but since the two Dragoons had gone to the snowfields early in the day, there was no telling when they'd be back. It had been such a long day already…

"I hope they hurry," Zieg commented, moving to place the basin and his candle on a chest of drawers by the window. He flicked aside the drapes to look out at the falling snow in the darkness, his shoulders slumped in depression. "If anyone can figure out what this poison is, and the antidote, it'll be Syuveil."

Blowing out a breath of air, he agreed, "Right." There was yet another question hanging over them: what about the war? At least Lord Tibero - Lord General, now - was moving on with the leadership of the armies, overseeing the gathering of the soldiers in Fort Magrad. But he was simply the respected elder of a Southlands clan; he wasn't Lord Diaz, the ruler who had given so many Human slaves something to live for.

_Diaz can't die. He can't. We have come so far - Soa, your fate can't include this! I can't believe you would give us hope just to yank it away! Do your creations mean so little to you?_

However, Belzac's dark line of thought was cut off by the sound of voices in the hallway outside. Zieg stood from where he was leaning on the window ledge, and Shirley pushed herself upright as the large chamber door flew open, a rather wide-eyed guard pulling on the catch.

A moment later the commotion entered the dark room as Matthi hurried inside, followed by Syuveil, who was staring at a piece of paper held in his hands, a thick ooze of blood covering the side of his jaw and drying down his neck. Behind him was Kanzas, who held Damia rather disinterestedly, as if he'd half-forgotten she was there. The young half-mermaid looked very pale, and Belzac knew that since she wasn't protesting against who was carrying her, something was probably wrong.

"-for hours now," Matthi was saying, half-turned to face Syuveil and walking backward with light ease. "There's got to be something we can do, there's _got_ to be-"

"Here," Kanzas said brusquely, coming over to Belzac and Shirley as they quickly got up from the floor. He dropped Damia into the half-Giganto's arms, standing back as he shifted her slight weight, staring down at her in shock.

Hearing the noise, Rose slipped in from the other room, an inquiring look on her face. "What's going on?" she asked, but Zieg shrugged, as mystified as she.

Matthi patted Diaz's hand with his smaller one before sitting down on the edge of the bed. The young Mininto guard heaved a sigh, a frown on his usually cheerful face. His own native magic could do nothing against the poison, either, and he had little to do now with his sworn lord and lady so ill. "Nothing's going right anymore," he muttered, feeling a bit out of place as he watched the Dragoons confer.

"Divine Tree, what happened to you?" Shirley breathed out, her eyes flicking first across the girl's huddled form and then Syuveil's singed hair and still-leaky wound. She took a step toward the Jade Dragoon and then stopped, glancing back at Damia. "Were you injured out in the snowfield?"

Belzac suddenly made a growling noise, his pale eyes growing flinty as he looked back up from the teal-haired girl's form and fixed his gaze on Kanzas. "You!" he hissed, suddenly silencing the room. "Did you do this?"

"What?" the other man responded, genuinely startled. He glanced down at himself, seeing the splotch of dried blood at the base of his neck, and reached to scratch at it with a fingernail. "What - no! She just bled on me." He snorted, crossing his arms. "That guy, what, Shynn? He stabbed her. But don't bother blaming him now, since he's dead."

For a moment no one could react. "Syuveil?" Zieg finally got out; he'd seen the man flinch at that, but surprisingly he'd made no move to even disagree. "Is this true?"

"Yes," Syuveil put in at last, reluctantly. "It was Fara, and - and Shynn…" He waved the crinkle of paper he held, looking at it almost in despair. "He…"

Struggling for his words, the scholar was momentarily saved as Rose said, "Before we get into that - Shirley, they should be healed. Before someone else dies."

Shuddering, the young woman forced herself to nod, dreading the thought of what might happen if her spirit wouldn't heal these hurts, too. _It'll work this time,_ she told herself. _It must…_

As the beams of light streaked outward from between her fingers, something unexpected happened. The glow of the white-silver spirit was echoed suddenly by circling rays of blinding-bright color from around the room, emanating from each of the Dragoon Spirits. Most surprising, however, was the stream of crystal-blue dancing around Damia's tightly clenched fist.

"Oh, yeah," Kanzas announced with relish, covering his wrist with his other hand as he felt the pulsing recognition of the other six Dragoon Spirits making an odd tattoo against his skin. "It looks like the kid's the last Dragoon, too."

"You _aren't _serious," Rose breathed, the only one to give voice to the shock. He shrugged, waving his hand as if to tell her to just believe her eyes. They watched as the lights faded, only Shirley's remaining to heal Syuveil and Damia of their wounds, and then its brightness died as well, leaving Diaz's chamber in dimness once more.

Shirley shook her head slowly, squeezing her spirit tight in her hand before letting it go. _Thank you. _"Then, it's no wonder we didn't sense anything," she murmured, thinking it through. "We'd already found the bearer of the Blue Sea spirit."

The girl slowly struggled to sit upright, Belzac shifting her to help, and Damia looked down at the blue stone in her bloody hand before looking back at the others. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her expression miserable. "I know I'm no good…"

"You'll do just fine," Belzac reassured her, brushing back the strands of hair that were stuck to her tear-stained cheeks, the sparkle of scales clear now on her face. She raised her hand to cover them, embarrassed, turning her head. He tugged her hand away, saying sternly, "And you don't need to be ashamed of who you are, either. Maybe your water magic made the spirit choose you."

"I know what Diaz would say now," Zieg offered, giving her a slightly-wan smile. "Dragoon Spirits attract each other, and Dragoons gather as the Dragoon Spirit desires - as Soa's fate leads. You were meant to have the spirit, Damia. If it accepts you, it means you deserve it."

After a moment, she let her hand fall, smiling a little in return. "Thanks…"

Shirley looked back toward the bed; Matthi shook his head at her helplessly, still keeping watch over the unconscious lord. Turning back, she wiped her sleeve across her eyes and murmured, "He'll be very happy, when he wakes up…"

Rose gave a nod. "The last Dragoon. This is good news," she said, "but I'd still like to know how this came about. It doesn't seem a coincidence that this would happen on the same day we find Lord Diaz poisoned."

"Don't look at me," Kanzas announced, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. "It's not my story."

"But you killed him!" Damia protested suddenly, turning ruby eyes toward him fiercely.

The man raised a shoulder in a shrug, unconcerned by the sudden scrutiny the others were giving him. "Not necessarily," he answered placidly. _I don't think I could count that one, could I? Such a boring death._ "Besides, to me it looks like the Shynn guy was a traitor. Everything's sort of mixed up."

It was Syuveil's turn to look away, staring down at the paper he held. "I - he-" Gritting his teeth, he took a breath and started again. "I don't really understand it, myself. But he left this letter, and… maybe I can come to understand it, eventually." He sighed. "All he wanted was to be one of us. He's always wanted… well, anyway… he found out last night, somehow, that it was Fara who poisoned Lord Diaz."

"I knew it!" Zieg exclaimed loudly, startling them. "I _knew_ she was responsible for this."

Nodding, the scholar went on, "It's poison sego. I don't know how she managed to get it to him-"

"Them," Shirley told him reluctantly, feeling pain for him as she watched all the color drain from his face, the dried blood staining his jaw showing even darker. "Lady Mille was affected also, though not as badly." He gave a little flinch, as if to go toward the other room, and then stood back again, looking even unhappier than before.

"We don't know how it got to them, either," Matthi put in, his high voice a little startling after its long silence. "The food was tested, and the taster is fine. So are all of you, and me, and everyone else who was there."

Syuveil held up the letter, scanning its contents once more. "This doesn't answer that. I - I don't know what he was thinking! He blackmailed Fara with this knowledge, promising not to tell anyone Diaz was poisoned if she could activate the Blue Sea Spirit for him. She agreed, but only if he'd deliver the child Damia to her…" He suddenly crumpled the letter in his hand, reaching up to clutch at his temples.

"He'd actually have done that?" Belzac said, astonished. He glanced at the bloodstained tear in the half-mermaid's tunic, scowling in outrage. "No, he _did_ do it. I can't believe he'd try to trade her life for a chance to be a Dragoon!"

Hesitantly, Damia explained, "He asked me to deliver a message to Syuveil. When I got up there, he was waiting with the Wingly woman, and grabbed me…"

"What was the message?" Shirley asked.

"This letter," Syuveil told her, half-heartedly uncrumpling it. "I think he expected to kill Fara, if she got the spirit to accept him. That's why I think he was only… pretending to be a traitor…"

Rose made a noise almost like a laugh. "What he did doesn't sound very loyal to me. I'm sorry, Syuveil, but-"

Zieg tapped a finger against his lips. "Well, a maid found Lord Diaz this morning," he mused, "early enough for us to halt the poison's spread, at least. She was sent to deliver a message to him, but when we found the actual message, it was blank."

"Well, what he meant or not doesn't matter," Kanzas said shortly. "They're both dead."

"How?" Shirley demanded, raising her eyebrow at him. "If Shynn had meant to fight Fara anyway-"

He shrugged. "We came out when the kid screamed. He had the knife in his hand - there was no mistake about who did it. Syuveil thought the Wingly made him do it, and went after her, and I fought with him."

"When the spirit flew to me," Damia said in a small voice, "he got mad and stabbed me. Kanzas kicked him off the side of the walkway and he pulled me too and we fell…"

"Damia!" Belzac gasped, surprised. He glared at Kanzas, who merely gave him an amused look in return. "You've certainly been through a lot tonight."

She nodded, rather mechanically, looking as if she might be pleased with that fact now that the danger was over. "I was scared, but I turned into a Dragoon," she finished, "and flew back up. It was really fast, I don't know what happened."

Syuveil refolded the wrinkled paper into a small square. "At the same time, I killed Fara, so I couldn't help them. That's all I know," he finished, his voice devoid of emotion. He didn't look over as Shirley put her hand on his shoulder comfortingly, tucking the letter into a pocket of his gray tunic. "And I… I don't know. I can't… dwell on this now. We have to find the antidote for Lady Mille and Lord Diaz. There are soldiers gathering in Fort Magrad even as we speak. We can't afford to wait."

"Which is exactly what Fara was counting on," Zieg said darkly. "I don't blame you, Syuveil, but her death won't help delay the war any. She was Faust's favorite niece - and the spear-shooter is nowhere near completed yet. If he decides to take Flanvel to Vellweb, the seven of us aren't strong enough yet to stop him."

"So," Belzac mused aloud, letting Damia down, "what will we do? The Winglies will demand the body."

"You could always put her head on a pike," Matthi suggested lightly, though his expression was dead serious. He shrugged at the odd looks the others gave him. "It's what you _do_ with heads. On pikes or in jars."

There was a silence for a moment. "I like that idea. Very appropriate," Zieg said with a humorless chuckle.

"We'll have to deal with that when, or if, it happens," Shirley counseled a little reproachfully, spreading her hands. "Diaz is the most important thing right now."

Rose bit her lip in reflection, rubbing her hands together as if to warm them. "You know, I've been thinking… poison sego's just a plant. Why doesn't Shirley's magic get rid of it?"

"Well," Kanzas put in suddenly, "obviously the Wingly did something to it. She had to have spied out something about the Dragoons while she was here. If she thought we might be able to use dragon magic to heal him, she could have magicked the poison to resist it."

"Then there has to be a way to break that spell," Belzac said, frowning. "A lot of their magic is destroyed when the caster dies, isn't it?"

"Yes," the Violet Dragoon answered flatly, "but not poison. Still, it's not hard to get rid of. Unless they've strengthened their poisons since… before, there's something else to it."

The twelve-year-old sighed, squatting down to curl over her knees. "Now what?" she asked, rather rhetorically. There was no answer; everyone around the room was silent, wondering the same thing themselves.

_We can't just wait and see,_ Shirley thought, unable to stand there another minute. _We have to do something, even if it doesn't help._ "All right," she said suddenly, surprising herself. "All right," she repeated as the others looked toward her curiously. "I'm going to go see Charle. She might be able to help." Flicking brown eyes across the rest of the Dragoons' faces, she finished with, "Zieg, will you come with me? You know the way to Ulara, and she'd want to see you, I think."

He nodded immediately, curious. "Of course, Shirley."

"Belzac," she went on, turning to him, "would you check the defenses, make sure the guards are posted? I don't know how much has gotten out about this to the people, but we should be prepared. Kanzas, Rose? Would you take your dragons and fly the borders? I - don't know, but I have a feeling the Winglies might be waiting to attack us while we're confused like this. See if you can find out what they're doing without getting caught yourselves."

"Yes, if you want," Belzac answered quickly. Shirley hadn't inherited much of her mother's imposing personality, but the resemblance now was startling.

The other two glanced at each other and then nodded. _Funny, _Kanzas thought, running a hand through his messy hair as he stood from the wall, _no one questions her at all. _It was strange to hear Shirley giving orders, even though that wasn't exactly what she was doing, but there was no reason not to do what she asked. _I wonder if she'll keep this up…_

Smiling gently, the young woman turned to the remaining two Dragoons. "Syuveil, Damia… please stay here and take care of them. Matthi will help, right?"

"Right," the Mininto agreed, bobbing his head in a quick nod.

"Okay, Shirley," Damia whispered, standing back up and drawing herself up straight. Syuveil also assented, looking toward Mille's room with obvious worry.

Shirley put her hand on the girl's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "You've had a hard day. Try to get some rest, if you can," she told her, taking a deep breath. "All right, everyone… let's get going. Please, be careful."

* * *

Though it seemed strangely quiet and normal in Vellweb that evening, there was an odd undercurrent of nervousness that belied the usual feeling in the streets. Belzac knew that the news of Lord Diaz and Lady Mille being ill had probably seeped out to the rest of the people; who knew how many the maid had told before he and the others had gotten there? The stars that had given them hope last night now shone more coldly above him, and he paused to pull his hood up over his head before heading down the nearest flight of stairs. 

Reaching a landing, Belzac peered up toward the roof of the palace building. Even through the darkness he could see the outline of the rubble that had spread there and the flickers of torches. One of the first things Tibero had done upon learning of the poisoning was to order that the city throw its full efforts into the construction of the spear-shooter.

_It's a smart decision, but a thing like that can't be built overnight, he mused morosely, especially with so many men away in the army now. We'll just have to do what we can, I guess. _

He'd spent the last hour going around the city and warning the guards to be extra vigilant as Shirley had asked, though inwardly he wasn't sure it would do much good. The reality was there weren't enough soldiers left in Vellweb now to defend it from a magical attack. Their forces were gathering in Fort Magrad even now, but as long as Flanvel was still in the sky, they would be overwhelmed instantly.

Right now, he just hoped that Shirley would be successful and Charle would agree to help them. It hadn't been too long ago that he'd seen the four dragons arrive to take the other Dragoons out of the city, and she and Zieg would be well on their way into the Death Frontier by now.

It had surprised him how quickly her attitude had changed from the depression she'd been in earlier. It was probably because there was now something to do about the situation, and he was glad she didn't seem to be dwelling on her inability to heal them anymore. Staying busy had always helped them keep their minds off problems, after all.

However, Belzac had seen something in Shirley's eyes before they'd all gone their separate ways, something almost worryingly unfamiliar. He'd known her since she was three years old, a new slave brought to a neighboring farm. She'd wandered away from her mother, was crying, lost and afraid, and he'd found her and brought her home again.

After that, he'd always looked out for her, protected her, even when she'd grown stronger, had learned to take care of herself. And even then she had still been the same Shirley, the same as the child who cried when a cat tormented a mouse, the girl who'd prayed in the fields for the souls of dead crows the Wingly drones had killed to protect the crop.

The two had only been separated for one year, when she'd been sent as tithe to the Temple of Soa in the Life City by her master. When she'd returned, to buy him and both their families free in the names of Charle Frahma and Lord Diaz, she had the Dragoon Spirit with her - and their lives had changed forever.

But even then, stepping onto the ground for the first time as a free Human, with the dragon's soul in her hand, Shirley had not looked as _determined_ as she had today. It was as if she had resolved herself to carry on no matter what, even without hope. And that, for some odd reason, disturbed him greatly.

Belzac sighed, coming down off the last flight of stairs into the lower city, his breath billowing around him visibly. Huge boots crunched the snow as he walked through the quiet nighttime streets. It was quiet enough, in fact, that the sound of raised voices several blocks away was clear to his ears. He stopped, frowning as he tried to figure out which direction it was coming from.

"Pardon us, Sir Belzac," someone said nearby, and he automatically moved out of the way, watching as two guards trotted past, turning the corner to head down another street. They were pulling a cart behind them, its wheels fastened to runners in deference to the snow, creating a makeshift sledge. Almost without thinking about it, the half-Giganto followed them.

As he'd expected, the soldiers and their cart led him directly to the source of the commotion, which surrounded one of the small 'houses' cut into the stone cliff face. Almost everyone on the street was outside, wrapped in layers of clothing against the cold, their voices buzzing loudly in the stillness. Children kept appearing in doorways and windows, shooed back to bed by parents and sneaking back shortly afterward.

Making his way easily through the crowd, the people always quickly giving way before him, Belzac approached one of the city guards and asked, "Hey - what's going on here?"

The man didn't answer right away, his gaze focused on the house's open door. Silence descended momentarily as the two guards with the cart came back outside, carrying a body between them, a blanket draped over its form but not hiding the shape of the dead person beneath it.

Carefully laying it in the cart, they went back inside, and Belzac watched with growing horror as another, rather smaller, figure was carried out and placed next to the first. The crowd of neighbors watched with solemnity, though whispers erupted again soon afterward.

With the ground frozen until spring, anyone who died before then had to be taken and placed in a large crypt underground until it was warm enough to bury them. He hoped they wouldn't be taking Diaz and Mille… "What happened here?" he asked again before they could leave, and this time the soldier watching the door turned to look up at him, his mouth set in a grim line.

"We don't know," he replied gruffly, glancing at the house. "They were found dead. No wounds. I just hope-"

He'd cut himself off so as not to alarm anyone else, but Belzac knew what he meant - it could be plague. _And that would be the exact last thing we needed right now. _However, suspicion was creeping up slowly inside him, and the Dragoon hesitated just a moment before turning to the sled and leaning down to lift the blanket from the face of one of the corpses.

The young man lying there had a pale face, his body rigid and his face frozen in an expression of agony. He'd probably been dead for several hours at least. His stomach twisting unpleasantly, Belzac bent closer; his sparse brows knit together as he saw a smudge of darkness around the man's mouth. Pulling off his glove, he wiped at the corner, a black smear streaking his fingertip. A quick look under the other blanket confirmed that the man's wife was the same. _But how…_

"Who was the last person to see them alive?" he asked, straightening up but not turning around as he put the glove back on.

The guard, after a moment, turned and demanded the answer of the crowd. The babble of voices increased as the neighbors conferred, and finally one man spoke up, saying, "Arne and Meg was outside this mornin', sir, when the almoner come by. We ain't none of us seen 'em since then."

_That's it…!_ Spinning around, Belzac suddenly asked the wary guard by the door, "Can I go inside? I want to check something."

"Go ahead, Sir Belzac, if you really want to," he answered, wearing an anxious expression on his face. His voice dropped as he added, "You couldn't pay me anything to make me go in there."

Covering the bodies again, the huge man nodded and ducked through the open doorway; he was barely able to stand straight without hitting his head on the rough stone of the ceiling. The home was typical of many of the commoners, very small and spare, but it was generally agreed that this was better than slave quarters in the Wingly cities.

The fire in the stove had gone out, and the room was chilly. Belzac reached to touch the pipe that let the smoke out through the wall and found it cold. Yes, they'd definitely been dead for a while. He turned around slowly in a circle, taking in a narrow double bed with a straw mattress, the blankets gone, of course. In the corner near the stove were two low stools and a shallow tub, and a niche carved into in the wall held some small bundles wrapped in cloth.

It took only two steps to reach the wall on the other side; his foot banged against the washtub, and he looked down, wrinkling his nose as he saw not water sloshing inside but vomit, pieces of food mixed with a thick black substance.

More certain than ever now, the half-Giganto reached for one of the bundles in the niche and unwrapped the cloth tucked securely around its contents. Inside was a quarter of a trencher from the feast, saved to provide another meal for these poor people.

"So that was how she did it," Belzac murmured, absently rewrapping the piece of flat bread and holding it to his chest. _Fara somehow got the poison onto Diaz and Mille's trencher. More must have gone on Diaz's half, because he's sicker. And then the almoner delivered it here…_

That damned Wingly… didn't care who she hurt, did she?

Stepping outside again, Belzac met the curious eyes of the crowd and the guards, who stood waiting by the cart, but not too close. Sighing, he told the soldier by the door, "It's not plague; they were poisoned." He could almost sense the relief in the air, the voices starting up again as this information was passed around.

"But, who'd want to kill these people?" the man asked him.

"It… it wasn't on purpose…" Shaking his head hard, Belzac went on, "Look, that's not important right now. There's another problem. Someone else got the other half of this trencher." Glancing at the other two bewildered guards, he added in a low, morose tone, "Better not bring that sled to the crypt just yet. I have a bad feeling that we'll need it again…"

* * *

Soaring blindly into the darkness, Shirley kept her head ducked against the cold wind, letting Eremi follow Zieg and his vassal dragon, Ember, across the desert land of the Death Frontier. Occasionally, she caught a glimpse of the other dragon's sleek red figure glinting in the light of the unsetting moon, and that was almost the only thing that kept her from feeling like she was drowning in the sky's void. 

It was the only thing that let her know where she was going as well. Charle's new city was still under construction, but it was already protected from the outside world by a magical shield of invisibility. All she knew was that it was somewhere near the center of the desert; Zieg, however, knew exactly how to get there, and if she lost sight of him now she was definitely _lost_.

However, it wasn't much longer before Ember suddenly curved slightly in the air, beginning to circle around as she came closer to the ground. _Follow them, Eremi, _Shirley thought urgently, hanging on as her vassal leaned to the side and began to slowly descend as well, rounded wings flaring as she glided almost playfully after the red dragon.

As they circled, though, she was convinced that Zieg had picked the wrong spot as well, for nothing was happening. She couldn't really ask him about it at the moment, though, just watching as finally Ember sharply pulled out of her gentle turn, rearing back as if annoyed. The dragon's jaw dropped wide, sending a streak of bright-orange flame racing harmlessly through the air and lighting up the emptiness of the Death Frontier.

_Well, _that _woke them up! _Shirley thought, startled, her fingers curled extra tightly around Eremi's halter rope. Below her, as though it were a mirage shimmering in the moonlight, the grounded Wingly town of Ulara shuddered into view, its invisibility falling away.

The two Dragoons flew down toward it; Ulara looked more like a ruin at this point than an actual town. A riot of trees and greenery seemed to choke out what civilization was present. Dust drifted across unfinished brick walkways, and many teleporting pads sat deadened without their usual green glow. All that the canals beneath the raised platforms held were rivers of even more sand. The buildings stacked above and beneath the walkways were dark and lightless - all of them but one.

As the dragons descended, a figure dressed in white came out onto a platform jutting from a hunk of rock, the entrance nearly hidden by leafy vines except for the glow of a transporter. Ember swooped down as near as she could, and Zieg wriggled out from under the ropes that held him on her back, jumping carefully but impressively onto the small platform as the dragon arced back into the sky.

Swallowing hard, Shirley urged her vassal dragon down just a little more before sliding her legs from the harness and swinging down after him, her heart flying up into her throat. Her eyes closed tight as she let go of the rope, but a moment later she felt arms around her waist, catching hold of her, and she clutched onto Zieg's neck to steady herself.

"All right there?" he asked, and she nodded, a bit embarrassed as he set her back on blessedly solid brick.

The Wingly woman who stood across from the two Humans was watching the dragons as they soared upward into the darkness, wings sparking briefly before they disappeared into the sky, released back to their nests on the border. She was wearing a nightdress and her wavy hair was a platinum color, left loose down her back.

Though at first glance she appeared to be a kindly grandmother, her face was smooth and young, with high cheekbones and a slightly regal appearance. After all, she was the older sister of the ruler of Endiness, and she could nearly match him in magical power.

"My goodness, dearies," Charle said mildly, ruining her majestic exterior even more as she ran over to Zieg and Shirley and flung her arms around them with a laugh. "What a dramatic entrance you made! Really, and I didn't even know you were here until your dragon breathed fire just over our heads, Zieggy!"

"We weren't that close, Charle," he protested tolerantly, enfolding the diminutive Wingly in the hug she required. He'd known her for longer than any of the others and had a great fondness for her, as well as respect for helping them to defy her brother. "If we'd been able to see Ulara to begin with…"

She stood back, waving a finger at him. "Now, now, you know that isn't such a good idea!" Turning to Shirley, she put both hands on the red-haired woman's shoulders, peering into her face. "Shirley, dear, you've changed," she murmured in a much more serious voice as the Human ducked her head away from her gaze. "I can see it in your eyes, child. What is it bothering you?"

"Well," Zieg broke in, scuffing his boot against the edge of the teleporter nearby, "that's why we're here."

"Inside, inside. I'm not going to chat with you standing out here in my nightie," she protested, waving them toward the edge of the rock face, the arched entrance to her house looking almost like a cave hidden by greenery. Ulara was on a chunk of land that had been lifted from the ground and brought with Wingly magic to the Death Frontier. That was why these plants thrived here, their beauty kept alive by the same magic.

Unlike the unfinished exterior of the town, Charle's house looked like any wealthy Wingly home in the floating cities, though it too wasn't completely finished yet - the interior teleporters were deactivated as well. Sparkling crystal rocks in a fountain refracted the water spilling over them, and a long walkway led deeper into the home.

Leading her guests inward, the woman paused to call up toward a ledge, "Caron, do come down and greet our guests! I shouldn't have to be the only one awake!"

"We are so sorry to wake you," Shirley hastened to say, "but this is too important to wait until morning."

"Nonsense, dearie. I'm sure I don't mind. Here, sit down, both of you," Charle commanded, half-dragging her over to a large golden-yellow couch, molded to fit its occupants comfortably. "There are certainly some things I wouldn't mind hearing about." She stooped briefly, lifting a leather container from its place in the corner. "My servants in Kadessa said this was yours, Shirley. Whatever were you doing _there_?"

Flushing as she recognized it, she answered, "Well… uh, it's a long story, Charle. I'll tell you later; it's not important now." Taking a seat next to Zieg, Shirley caught his half-amused glance and shook her head in response, smiling wanly. It was obvious that Charle would never change. However, despite her flighty attitude, she also knew that the Wingly could be depended on to help them, just as she had been secretly backing the Human uprising for years now.

A moment later, another Wingly flew down from what would be the upstairs level, wearing a robe over her nightdress and carrying a length of cloth over one arm. Her wings shimmering from sight, Caron gave the two Dragoons a respectful nod, draping the unasked-for shawl over Charle's shoulders in an affectionate way. "Hello," she greeted in a low, quiet voice.

"Now," Charle said, clapping her hands together childishly, "why have you two dropped in on us tonight?"

There was no way to say it gently, and Zieg, after a moment, told her, "Charle, everything's gone all wrong. Fara's poisoned Lord Diaz and Lady Mille. They're dying, and we can't heal them."

"Oh, dear," she breathed, raising a hand to her lips. "I suppose she fled to Flanvel afterward?"

Shirley shook her head slowly. "Syuveil killed her," she answered evenly, "and even that didn't break the spell. Lord Diaz is in death-sleep, and Lady Mille in great pain, and I can do nothing…" Quickly hiding her face in her hands, she curled forward to block out her surroundings, sitting like that until she felt a hand touch her shoulder.

Looking up, she saw Caron standing there, a small vessel in her other hand. "Drink this," Caron told her, pressing the cup into her hands. Her pretty face was sympathetic, but somehow distant at the same time. "It will be all right."

Nodding, she took a sip of the clear liquid, feeling it burn her tongue and throat as it went down. _Wingly liquor,_ she recognized, and gave it one more wary look before knocking the rest of it back. It warmed her instantly from the inside, and she handed back the cup with a steadier hand, brushing the hair from her face. "Thank you," she murmured, turning her eyes to the others.

"She must have learned it from that horrible uncle of hers," Charle was musing softly. "No wonder your dragon magic couldn't fix it; it's the same kind of magic that makes teleporter spells and the like stick to the transport pads. What a nasty thing to do, applying permanence to a poison. There's no choice, of course - I'll have to break the spell myself."

"You _would_?" Zieg exclaimed delightedly, his hazel eyes going wide as he sat a bit straighter. "But suppose you're found out-"

The Wingly waved a hand dismissively. "I can certainly take care of myself, Zieggy, and Melbu knows that, too." Her wings slid from her back suddenly, her feet leaving the ground. "Come with me, Caron," she ordered her lady, grabbing for her hand. "Help me dress; we need to leave as soon as we can."

As the two flew quickly to the second floor, Shirley sighed, telling her friend in a soft voice, "I know there's no other way, but I feel like… it's wrong, to ask her for help. Like we can't even do anything without the Winglies' aid."

He put his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her briefly. "It's not like we ask her for everything," he defended. "This is so important. We can't lose Lord Diaz… we just can't."

It was not long before Charle and Caron returned again to descend onto the walkway. The ruler of Ulara was wearing one of her customary elaborate gowns, the layered coral-colored fabric making a full skirt. It rustled as she beckoned to them, leading the way back toward the entrance. Almost forgetting to, Shirley grabbed the pack she'd left in Kadessa before following after.

"Use the transporter," Charle said as they stepped out into the cold night again, pointing to the green circle as she and the other Wingly took flight. "This one works."

The bubble of light surrounded the two Humans, carrying them down to the high brick pathway below. Running along its length, Shirley and Zieg kept up with the two flying above them as they were led down the interconnecting walks toward another source of light. The other Winglies here, asleep in their dark houses, didn't seem to hear the sound of their footsteps echoing past in the stillness.

Alighting on the second of the twin teleport pads, Caron behind her, Charle waited for the Dragoons to arrive and catch their breath before announcing, "All right, dearies, we'll be in Vellweb in the blink of an eye. Just step here with me."

A dull, almost queasy ache settling in her stomach, Shirley nodded and did as asked, folding her hands in front of her chest. Just one more uncomfortable ride, and then everything would be all right again. Next to her, Zieg was also silently bracing himself, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Take care of things here, Caron," Charle said with a smile, kissing her before arranging herself onto the softly-glowing circle. "You must put the shield up until I get back."

"I will, Charle," the white-haired woman promised, stepping back and then holding up her hands. "Go safely!"

A sphere of green surrounded the three, lifting them high into the air before shooting northward. Shirley bit her lip as the ground sped by beneath her, covering the many miles in only a few minutes, and Zieg stared upward at the night sky, the stars there mere streaks of light. This was a much longer passage than the one from the village commons to Kadessa had been, leaving her time to actually see the world sliding away below.

And then, descending suddenly, the magic orb dissipated, leaving them standing in a snowdrift just outside Vellweb. A spell of Charle's own, cast years ago, made it impossible for any Wingly to simply teleport themselves within the city's thick stone walls.

The Wingly shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "Ooh," she muttered brightly, "I did forget just how cold it was here!"

Almost without thinking, Shirley unfastened her white wool cloak and flung it from her shoulders onto Charle, draping it over her head to hide her hair. "We'll go faster if they don't recognize you as a Wingly," she explained to the startled woman, already feeling the bite of the freezing air through her robe.

"Come on," Zieg called, already hurrying ahead of them toward the gate. He pounded on it until the sentries let them in, and after only a short time dealing with them, since the two Dragoons were recognized right away, the group rushed down the streets toward the palace.

Worry clutched at her as they finally reached the lord and lady's chambers upstairs, but as they were let inside Shirley saw, much to her relief, that Lord Diaz hadn't gotten any worse while they were away. However, he hadn't gotten any better, either, still lying in bed as they'd left him.

Belzac was slumped in a chair next to Diaz, holding a sleeping Damia in his arms, and he blinked groggily as they entered, sitting up and trying not to rub at his eyes. Shirley looked at him with a little envy, as she hadn't had a chance to sleep since she'd been woken with the news that morning.

"Charle? She - you came?" Belzac blurted, surprised, as the Wingly pulled Shirley's cloak from her shoulders and absently pushed it back toward its owner.

"That's right," she answered, leaning over Diaz and placing her hand on the lord's forehead. All traces of her usual eccentricity had vanished into a hard mask of seriousness. "Oh, dear, dear," Charle murmured under her breath.

"Excuse me, Charle," Belzac put in, standing up. Damia's head lolled against his shoulder, and she murmured something in her sleep. When the woman turned to him, he continued in a rush, "Please, you must help Lady Mille first; we think she might be losing the baby-"

Her back tensed suddenly, her garnet eyes darkening with anger, very odd to see on her normally pleasant face. Without answering him, she rushed through the open doorway leading to the adjoining room, twisting her shiny platinum hair up out of the way as she went. The others followed slowly, making sure to keep behind her; Damia blinked and woke up, holding onto Belzac as they watched what was happening.

Syuveil sat up as she entered, lifting his face from where it was resting on his arms on the edge of the bed, but Charle didn't seem to notice him, pushing past to look down at the lady there.

Mille's skin was bone-white and covered in sweat, her dampened brown hair spread wildly across her pillow. Her breathing was coming quickly through gritted teeth, sounding pained as she clutched at the sheet beneath her. When she focused on the Wingly's face, she looked as though she wanted to speak, though nothing came out but another soft groan.

"All right," Charle said softly, closing her hand around Syuveil's shoulder, "out of the way now, dear."

Reluctantly, he let her push him aside, swaying a little on his feet as he stood, knocking back the chair. Zieg steadied him, walking him back a few steps without drawing attention to it. She took his place there, reaching out to place a hand on the swell of Mille's stomach, her fingers glowing gently and her eyes hooded with concentration.

A moment later, the glow grew more intense, and the Human let out a sudden loud scream, her back arching involuntarily. "Oh, god!" Syuveil choked, unable to take more than a step toward her as Zieg hooked his arms beneath the scholar's, dragging him back.

"She's going to help her!" the blonde man hissed in the Jade Dragoon's ear, he too unable to tear his eyes away from the figure in the bed.

None of the others could look away either, hearing the painful wails filling the room and watching in dread as bright blood slowly began to stain the sheet draped down between Mille's legs. Damia hid her face in Belzac's shoulder, holding on around his neck almost tight enough to choke him. Shirley clasped the white-silver Dragoon Spirit between her hands, watching in horror as the red stain grew larger and larger.

Syuveil shook his head hard, struggling against Zieg's grip. "Stop it!" he screamed. "You're hurting her more, stop it!"

Not paying him any heed, Charle merely leaned forward, and the glow grew brighter, filling the room briefly with a blinding light. Almost invisible through the light, Mille made a choking sound, her eyes rolling back as a wispy black cloud floated from her mouth and was destroyed in the whiteness.

"There, darling," she said quietly, turning to the small table next to the chair she was on and dipping a cloth in the bowl of water there. "You're going to be just fine."

Mille lay still now, her body relaxed, and Charle wrung out the cloth before patting the sweat away from the woman's forehead. Zieg finally let go as Syuveil wrenched himself away, falling to his knees next to Charle at the side of the bed. Mille looked at his worried face, her gaze confused, before her eyes went back to the Wingly. The lady's voice was soft and scratchy as she made herself say, "What… what happened…?"

Her voice exceedingly gentle, Charle told her, "I was able to remove the poison trapped in your body, Mille. Unfortunately, you had already lost one of your babies."

"O-one of?" she whimpered, clutching onto Syuveil's proffered hand tight enough to turn it purple as the rest of the Dragoons looked on, shocked at the news.

"Yes," she answered, putting the cloth back in the bowl, "there were two. However, if you rest and are careful for another month, it's very likely the one remaining will be born with no trouble." She stood up slowly, and though her face was smiling there was a deep sadness in her Wingly eyes.

As Charle stepped away, Mille began to sob; Syuveil leaned down to comfort her and she wrapped her arms around him tightly, her body shaking as she bit her lip to try to stop her cries. He slid his arms beneath her to hold her against his chest, his face hidden in her hair. The two of them didn't move as the others slowly drifted back into the other room, simply holding on inside that dull, aching moment for as long as they could.

* * *

This hadn't exactly been unexpected - not really. The fire had melted the thin layer of ice that had covered the streets of what had once been a Gloriano border village, and then it too had burned out, leaving only smoldering shells of homes. _Like that outpost near Kashua Pass. This is just what I figured would happen,_ Kanzas thought, absently reaching up to stroke the shiny purple scales on Taranis' snout with his fingertips. _The Winglies aren't going to sit around and let us destroy them._

The dragon behind him made a soft keening sound which changed into a growl as he lifted his small head from his Dragoon's shoulder, stretching it upward. The man looked up as well, only barely catching sight of a splotch of darkness against the slowly brightening early-morning sky. He smirked without amusement, watching as the shape resolved itself into the form of Rose and her vassal dragon, Michael. They'd flown off in opposite directions as they'd left Vellweb to search the borders as Shirley had asked.

The large black-scaled creature landed on the hill as well, golden sparks falling as the dragon flapped his wings hard. Taranis hissed deep in his throat, rearing back, and Rose hastened to keep Michael from doing the same before sliding down off his back onto the frozen dead grass. This village had been closer to the Death Frontier and was less snowy than most of the country, though it was still quite cold, especially at this time of the morning.

_That's enough, now; I won't let her hurt you, _Kanzas thought, and the dragon reluctantly subsided as the black-haired woman came near.

"I saw the fire," she told him curtly, "but it's too late now…"

Folding his arms against his chest, he nodded toward the town. "Yeah, the Winglies left before I got here."

Rose blew out a breath of air, pulling her wrap around her. For a moment it seemed as if she was going to say something, but then she shook her head and started off down the hill toward the remains of the village. Kanzas waited a moment before following her, quickly catching up. Neither of them said anything, the frosted grass crackling beneath their boots as they descended into the scene of the massacre.

There wasn't too much to set this apart from similar scenes, though it was quite clear that this particular statement had been made because of the Humans' resistance. The timing was just too perfect for it to be just another one of Melbu Frahma's occasional displays of power. Maybe it was even retaliation for the escape from the Kadessa arena; something in Kanzas told him that Shirley would agonize and blame herself for this as well. He wished she'd stop bleeding over every little thing…

They split up automatically as they walked through the streets, encountering charred and broken bodies nearly everywhere, though not wholly visible in the dim light before dawn. The russet-haired man merely gave them cursory glances, his expression even and emotionless. He supposed they were looking for survivors, but there were obviously none. There rarely were; the Winglies were too good at what they did for that.

Rose appeared around the corner, kicking fallen stones from her path, her hands clenched tightly on her upper arms. She met Kanzas' gaze as they neared each other, her expression as cold as his, though her pale blue eyes were dark with grief and, not surprisingly, hatred as well.

After several seconds, she suddenly turned her head sharply away from him, watching the smoke drift around them, the burnt smell thick in the air. "They're all going to Hell," Rose said softly, "aren't they? The Winglies in Mayfil will send their souls to Hell, just because they're Human."

"Yeah…" he answered distractedly, staring as if into the distance. _That's always the way, isn't it? But I know another way… the Winglies themselves told me another way…_ Only half-aware of it, Kanzas murmured, "I wish I'd been the one to do it…"

Slowly, as if she couldn't believe her ears, the other Dragoon drew out, "What… did you say…?"

Without regard to the consequences, he returned immediately in a louder tone, "I said, I wish I'd been the one to kill these people."

Rose slapped him hard enough to knock him back a step, the crack of it ringing out loudly in the smoldering air. "How dare you," she hissed, her hand still upraised as he straightened again.

"Oh, you're all alike," he snapped back, holding up his fists warningly, more than half-inclined to hit her back. "You'd _never_ kill if it weren't for war, right? Damn it, you can't even _comprehend_ why I do what I do."

The woman's voice sounded taut and shaky as she answered, "You're right - I don't even want to try to comprehend someone as twisted as you." She spun around abruptly, stalking back off the way she came, and Kanzas bit his lip in pain a moment later, not from his stinging cheek but from the deep half-moon marks his fingernails had made in his palms as he'd kept himself from striking. He wasn't even sure now why he'd bothered to hold back.

Shaking out his hands, he tucked them in his pockets and went in the other direction, scowling as he stepped absently over the rubble and body parts that were strewn across the streets. _Forget this. _There was nothing to do here. Better just to go back to Vellweb, let Rose sorrow over what she couldn't change-

"…Kanzas?"

Her voice, drifting to his ears from some distance away, made him pause and turn. There was no trace of anger in the way she'd said his name; instead, he could only hear the detachment of shock there. Curiosity more than anything made him pick his way across the street toward the village green, from which her call had come.

The slender trees that had grown in the area had been uprooted, dropped haphazardly on the burnt grass, and in the middle of it stood a large stone. The face of the stone was covered with Wingly glyphs, the writing glowing a bright magical green. Rose was kneeling before it, one hand resting on the forehead of a dead child. A branch through the stomach pinned the body to the ashy ground. She stroked the boy's hair almost as if to soothe him, though he was long past comforting.

Kanzas looked at the stone closely; whatever it said, it was enough to make the Darkness Dragoon forget that she was mad at him, at any rate. "I can't read Wingly," he informed her tersely.

"It says that this is just the beginning," Rose murmured a bit vacantly, bending forward to kiss the boy's forehead, her long black ponytail falling to drape his face like a shroud. "They mean to fill Hell with the souls of our children." She looked back at him, her face strikingly cold and serious. "I will not allow you to help them."

Silent for a moment, the man suddenly reached for the branch, yanking it with a hard motion from the corpse and flinging it behind him. "This," he snarled, "is not what I do. I hate the Winglies more than anything, Rose! They took _everything_ away from me - everything!"

"Your sanity, too?" she replied coolly. "Like you said, I don't understand you. Nor do I trust you. And I promise you this, Kanzas - if you ever betray us, it will be my sword finding your heart."

"You're welcome to try it," he rasped back, "if that's ever the case."

They glared at each other, gazes full of ire, until she finally looked away, gesturing with her chin at the stone as she got to her feet. "We need to take this back to Vellweb," Rose announced. "I'm not leaving it here for Winglies to find."

A bit confused, he decided not to argue, stepping around to the side of the display and giving it an experimental shove. It didn't budge, and he leaned more weight against it as Rose pulled on the other edge. Finally, putting his shoulder against the rock, he was able to lever it out of the ground.

Rose dropped it slowly down, briefly peering into the hole the stone had left. Carefully, she stepped around and picked up the child, placing him gently in the hole and filling it over with dirt and then some of the fallen bricks. Kanzas made no move to help, merely watching until she was done before calling Taranis to him.

Once the violet dragon and his Dragoon was in the air again, Michael descended, and at Rose's direction picked up the glyph stone in one claw. A moment later, they were on their way north again, flying onward as the sky brightened in the east, the rising sun bringing with it another day without rest.

* * *

The situation in Diaz's chambers was much brighter than it had been the day before, for despite Lady Mille's tragedy, at least she and the ruler of Vellweb were still alive. The Dragoons' sleepless night had become dawn, but thanks to Charle the damage of Fara's attack had been minimized. 

The lord was awake now, though still weak, and had been listening to the news of everything that had happened while he was ill. Matthi had been sent to notify Tibero, and Damia had tearfully sworn to serve Lord Diaz as the last Dragoon. The brightness lasted until the door opened once more to reveal Kanzas and Rose and the huge stone they carried between them.

"Rose!" Zieg greeted her, his face lighting up as he saw his fiancée. "You're safe!"

She nodded to him before saying brightly, "Lord Diaz, you're well again! I'm so glad!" However, she didn't seem very happy; in fact, her words sounded forced.

Taking one look at their faces, Shirley felt a sense of dread settle upon her, looking up from where she sat in the chair next to Diaz. "What happened?" she asked, immediately silencing the others.

"We found a village by the south border, burned," Kanzas answered finally, grunting as they dropped the large stone down; it hadn't been fun to carry up all those stairs. Sweeping his eyes across the group, he caught sight of Charle and frowned. "Who the hell is that Wingly?"

"Charle Frahma," Belzac spat back before anyone else could answer, not in the mood to put up with him at the moment, "and if it weren't for her-"

A hand on his arm stopped him, and the platinum-haired woman smiled, shaking her head. "It's all right, sweetie. We'll talk about this later. What's that you've brought up, Rosie dear?" She narrowed her eyes, peering at the glyphs on the stone, and then her face suddenly went bloodless.

Leaning over the stone to mostly block it from view, Rose answered in a low tone, "Something we found in that village. Someone call in Syuveil - this is important." Damia quickly slipped into the other room to bring him back, and when they returned they all looked at the Darkness Dragoon curiously, waiting for her to explain.

Rose began to read the placard aloud; she was very obviously forcing her voice to remain even, her fists clenched and her body quaking with repressed anger. " 'For the benefit of all'," she began, " 'the Human species must be culled to manageable proportions. The breeding of Humans is not allowed without approval from the Life City. All'-"

Here, for a moment, she faltered. However, Belzac too knew how to read the Wingly characters, and Shirley could already see the blood draining from his skin, his head bowed and his breath coming in short gasps. Syuveil, who could also read ahead, put his face in his hands, and the others merely stood and waited silently.

Finally, Rose was able to continue, a look of nausea crossing her face. " 'All Human children under the age of ten must be… be destroyed. Owners will be reimbursed by the Palace'-" Cutting herself off again, the Darkness Dragoon let out a cry, giving the display a fierce kick. The green-glowing letters fizzled, fading in the place where her boot had landed. "Damn him!" she screamed, and at the moment no one was capable of feeling surprised at her burst of emotion.

"Oh, Melbu," Charle whispered into the air behind them; slowly, she crumpled forward, her skirts billowing up around her as she sank to her knees. "What have you done now?"

Damia turned as if to help her but could only stand there staring, her crimson eyes wide and unblinking, almost as if she hadn't understood. Diaz too was shaken by the news, falling back against his pillow as all his strength suddenly left him. "It's… horrible… that he would actually sink to this…"

"He can't expect them to actually follow this!" Syuveil protested suddenly, his voice louder than it usually would have been. "All the Winglies aren't that heartless! He's just trying to scare us into submission! All the parents - there will be revolts-"

"And they'll all be killed too!" Kanzas shouted back, whipping his hand back in a violent gesture. "Don't you see? They want to cut out the bad part and start over, breed slaves who'll be raised up just like they want-"

Zieg shook his head hard. "But Humans will fight to protect their families, they'll join us against them - he's done nothing but help us gain the support from those who would have hesitated, given them a reason to fight back-"

Shirley, still in shock, suddenly felt Belzac leave her side, unable to do anything but watch as he stormed forward and out the door, leaving it hanging open behind him. When she was able to force herself to move again, she ran after him, not having to go far before she found him again at the end of the hallway.

The half-Giganto was kneeling on the stones in the corner, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs, the tears streaming down his broad face. After he'd had to witness Lady Mille's pain upon losing the baby, this was almost too much to bear. He thought of all the children he cared for, morbidly picturing the destruction Melbu Frahma wished visited upon them, and he let out a cry of anguish, his face turned away.

Shirley couldn't speak, couldn't possibly find any words to soothe him with. More than anything, she wanted to cry as well, but oddly the tears would not come either. She could only kneel there beside him, hand on his shoulder, and wait for the pain to fade.

Several minutes passed before he straightened up again. "I want," he hissed between clenched teeth, his deep voice shaking, "I want to kill them, to kill them all… I want to _crush_ every single Wingly…"

"I… I know," she whispered back, pulling him into an embrace, her breath momentarily lost as he suddenly held her close. "How can he be so cruel, Belzac? All we want is to live our lives…!"

But she'd had a part in this, too. Her hand still held the knife, as sure as it had when she'd flown across the arena. Would those people have died if she hadn't struck a blow toward Melbu Frahma? Would Lady Mille's baby have died if they hadn't forced the Winglies' hand?

She could second-guess herself forever, it seemed, but no answers would come from it. All she could do, Shirley thought, gently smoothing back Belzac's hair with the sides of her fingers, was harden her heart just a little bit more, and go on from here.

* * *

He barely heard the sound of footsteps in the fluffy snow that covered the floor of what would eventually be his tower, and when he did, he didn't react to it. Instead, Kanzas sat cross-legged in the midst of the white stuff, staring eastward over the city and ignoring how cold it felt. It was dawn once more, a brighter dawn than before, of the day they would set out for Magrad. After learning about Melbu Frahma's new decree, the others were all more ready than ever to make their first move in the war. 

Finally, he looked over toward his visitor, seeing Shirley standing there; he would only have been surprised if it _wasn't _her. She didn't look very happy about being up so early, dressed in the same traveling clothes she'd worn on their last journey together, though her bright hair this time was left down. In her hand, she held by the straps the pack from that very same journey. Hadn't they left that in Kadessa when they'd escaped?

"It's cold," she got out, walking quietly up next to him and standing there awkwardly, not wanting to sit in the snow. "What are you doing up here?"

"Just thinking," he answered idly, watching the sky slowly change its colors. "There's a lot to think about."

Shirley nodded, giving him a sidelong glance. "…I don't suppose you're thinking of apologizing to Charle," she said without much hope.

He let out a short laugh that sounded all the louder in the quietness that surrounded them. "Hardly."

She sighed, resigned, but still tried, "Don't you think that threatening to… to slit her throat was a bit much?"

He gave her a look of amusement, as though she was a precocious child; he couldn't really explain to Shirley why he'd gotten so angry at the eccentric Wingly woman. He knew the others trusted her, and he knew how she'd quietly been helping the Human cause, not to mention saving Diaz and Mille. He still couldn't make himself trust a Wingly, but that was only part of why he'd snapped at Charle the night before.

She'd called him 'Za'. She gave almost everyone nicknames, probably hadn't even noticed she'd done it, but hearing the name had frozen him inside, had hurt so badly he had hardly known what else to do. _No one _had called him that since he'd been taken from his mother and sold to the researcher in Aglis. And, apart from that, it was a name Shirley might recognize, since she obviously didn't remember her brother's full name.

"All right, maybe it was a bit much," he finally conceded, just to make her stop bothering him about it. To be sure, he also quickly changed the subject, breathing out a puff of air that hung before him a moment in the chill. "What are you doing up here, then? Making sure I get enough attention for the day?"

"Oh, Kanzas," she murmured in exasperation, squatting down across from him, her yellow-patterned jacket falling to pool around her feet. _He just loves to make things difficult, _she thought, her ears and fingers feeling numb. She tossed the pack out in front of him, saying, "I got our things back from Charle a couple days ago. I'm guessing you want yours?"

Unfastening the straps, he nodded as an afterthought, tugging at a corner of the folded cloak that rested near the top of the pack and pulling it free. The only things inside were his, as from the clothes she was wearing Shirley had obviously taken hers back already.

The sack containing what he'd salvaged from the remains of the bandit camp, the ink and quill and ledger, all were there. It was too cold to add any more marks to the book, though; there was ice in the ink bottle, rattling against the glass as he picked it up to glance at.

And then, feeling Shirley's gaze upon him, Kanzas picked up the small worn doll from the bottom of the bag, raising it gently to his lips. She looked away, almost as if in embarrassment, and stood straight again, walking to the uneven wall of the unfinished tower to look outward at the rising sun.

He flipped the cloak around his shoulders, over the coat for the moment, glad to have it back as it was much less bulky. "Do you regret your promise?" he asked her suddenly, putting everything but the doll back into the sack; that he tucked under his sash again.

Crossing her arms, she made a neutral noise in the back of her throat, knowing what he was talking about. "You seem to be trying your hardest to _make_ me regret it."

"Mm," he sighed, looking around at the circle of the small room. "I just don't think you can understand. Rose certainly doesn't." Dark amber eyes fixed on her back, he added, "As I'm sure she's told you."

"She has," Shirley said in a low voice. "If Rose has misgivings about something, she's not one to keep them inside." _And are you really an unrepentant killer, or is that what you want me to think?_ "I just wish…"

Smirking, he retorted, "Wishes aren't horses, which we'll be be sorry for on the way to Magrad today, I'm sure."

"Please don't joke," the young woman said, pushing back from the wall to walk around its circle behind him. "I want to understand, Kanzas. I want to know why you… you enjoy causing pain so much-"

"I don't… I don't know," he shot back, aimlessly brushing snow into a pile before him, his head bowed to make sure he never caught a glimpse of her expression. Though he'd been about to say that he didn't enjoy it, somehow he knew that would simply be a lie. "Maybe that's because it's the only thing I know how to do."

The White-Silver Dragoon made another noise, more of a protest this time. "I refuse to believe that."

"Believe what you like." Kanzas looked down at the snow thoughtfully, piling it up a little more with scarred, callused hands. "Do you know about the tiory-snake?"

Taken aback, Shirley stared at him, frowning. "That… that's a legend, a story. The first creature born of the Divine Tree to turn on another. I don't know why you bring it up now."

_Yes, and it stole destiny from Soa with the blood that it spilled, _he thought, shaking his head slowly as he packed the snow down, shaping it. But if she didn't know the story well enough to understand why he'd asked, then it wasn't the right time to explain it to her. "Doesn't matter. Forget it."

Sometimes he made her so angry she wanted to scream. "Fine, then, keep your mysteries, Kanzas," she snapped, a little more irately than she would have liked. Forcing herself to calm down, she went on, "But I don't like being held to a promise when all I get for trying to keep it is hostility."

He ignored her irritation and looked up, staring hard into the sky as the sun broke over the horizon, the bright light spilling across them and instantly turning his hair redder than usual. The city below was already moving with people, the convoy that would set out preparing itself at the gates. "Just don't leave, just like you promised. I-"

Cutting himself off, Kanzas stared down at the pile of snow before his numbed legs, and slowly brushed a bit off the edges with the side of his finger. Of course. Of course. All the fractured ideas he'd come up with since he'd killed Jidena had just come together so neatly into the perfect answer.

"I'm going to save them, Shirley," the man announced suddenly, a grin spreading across his face. "The Humans - I'm going to save them. They won't go to Hell if they don't deserve it. I won't let them."

Shirley fell silent for a moment, but then he felt her hands tentatively touch his shoulders, and she leaned down behind him, her hair swinging near his cheek. "You aren't joking again, now, are you?" she asked, a note of wariness in her tone.

"No," he whispered hoarsely. All those tallies on a page. The blood on his hands that changed destiny, and not just his own. It was magic, holy magic, magic even Humans could do. "I know just how to do it. It's so simple. I can save them from Mayfil and that false judgment there."

Despite the conflicting emotions whirling inside her, Shirley could tell from the sound of his voice that he wasn't just saying things to make her happy; there was something genuinely startled in the realization. Falling forward against his back, she hugged him hard around the shoulders, pressing her face into the folds of his dark cloak, eyes squeezed tightly closed. Maybe there was hope in him after all. "If you can," she gasped out, "if you can do that…"

He was smiling, though she couldn't see it, a serene smile that she would have recognized, for it was the same smile that had once crossed their gentle father's face. Feeling Shirley's breath warm against his neck, he looked down at the small figure before him, the figure of a Human shaped from snow.

"Of course, Shirley," Kanzas answered. "I'll even do it for you."


	10. Chapter Ten

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter Ten

The long column of soldiers stretched out across the field of white, trampling through the layers of new and old crusty snow as they headed south to Fort Magrad. Waving standards and flapping banners of white and orange flew above them in the clear morning light, the sun glaring brightly off the ground. At the head of the column the seven Dragoons marched, flanking the figure on horseback who was leading the way.

Belzac walked next to his ruler's horse, keeping an eye on his lord in an unobtrusive manner; the Mininto bodyguard kept pace on the other side, needed more here than in Vellweb now that he had relayed the news of their departure on to Lord General Tibero.

Of course, Diaz had refused to ride in a sledge on the way to the fortress, but he was still weak from the poisoning he'd suffered, and he'd only had one full day to recover. However, he sat stubbornly upright in his saddle, his heavy dress armor in the supply cart and a thick fur cloak around him being two of the few concessions he'd made to being ill.

This didn't keep the Golden Dragoon from staying nearby, prepared to steady him if he needed it. Matthi too, walking with some effort through the drifts, gave his lord worried looks when he thought no one would see. Diaz's face was very pale beneath his curly dark beard, the skin around his eyes still blackened as if he'd been punched. The loss of the child had hit him hard as well, though he only spoke of being glad that his wife had come through all right.

Aside from that, the rest of the march progressed with a vaguely spirited air, an anticipation that something important, life-changing, was going to happen very soon. Damia, slogging her way through the snow as she pushed to keep up, kept pressing her hand against her stomach or to her heart as if in response to the feeling.

"Butterflies?" Belzac asked her, glancing down, and she nodded emphatically, though not replying aloud.

The half-mermaid hadn't been saying much anyway, though; her presence in the convoy had been met by laughter and teasing from the soldiers until a word from Diaz stopped them. Even so, they obviously had no idea why a child was marching with them, and would probably remain derisive until they saw the power she could command.

There wasn't much talking at all among the Dragoons, actually, most of them remaining subdued and drained after the events of the last couple of days. It took two days to travel between Vellweb and Fort Magrad, however, and with such a large group, pulling sleds of equipment and supplies, this trip would take even longer than that. It was doubtful that everyone could remain silent for that long, even if they'd wanted to.

Belzac, for his part, felt almost cheerful, the excitement in the air infecting him with its energy. The sooner they got to the fortress, the sooner they could declare war on the Winglies, and then he could make sure that the Humans - that the children - would be safe. _There's no point in dwelling on bad things, _he told himself, his steps still light and effortless. If only it was possible for everyone to feel that way…

'Look toward the future now.' It was what Charle had said to them before she'd gone ahead to transport herself back to Ulara, her blessing given to the downfall of her kin. And, as much as he could, he was going to do just that. The Wingly had taken Fara's body with her in order to diplomatically return it to her family and thus lessen the chance of Flanvel attacking Vellweb; he hoped she would be successful in that as well.

They had traveled for the best part of the day, stopping only for a large, revitalizing midday meal, and it was late afternoon when the column's routine march ground to a sudden halt. Most creatures were smarter than to attack a huge group of people, but there were always exceptions, and one seemed to be on its way now.

On the crest of a hill in front of them a strange shape had appeared, moving jerkily toward the company. With the sun's passage overhead, it was now easier to see what was coming slowly at them, though the odd creature was not any easier to recognize.

Matthi, however, knew what it was. He straightened with a gasp when he saw it, his dark eyes narrowing as his hand flew back over his shoulder to the hilt of his greatsword. The thing moving down the ridge had a thick central torso and three rotating arms, at the ends of which were solid metal balls bigger than a Human man's head. Its legs and feet were shaped like a Human's, and it rocked back and forth as it moved to keep balanced.

It set itself down into the snow a good distance away from the line of people, its arms rotating occasionally as if it was scrutinizing them. There was a silent pause as they looked at it, waiting for it to make a move.

"My lord," one of the captains asked just behind Diaz, "should we continue past it?"

He frowned, finally nodding. "It doesn't seem to be harmful-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, a thick silver tube extended itself from the machine's back, raising itself over to settle on the flat top part of its torso. A second later, a ball of sparkling energy shot from the barrel, arching upward and down into the midst of the column.

Soldiers scattered to avoid the blast, diving to the sides, and Diaz clutched the reins as his horse reared back, spooked by the noise and the spray of snow it had sent up. However, he managed to stay in the saddle and started trying to calm it down. Before the drifting flurry even cleared, there came a metallic ring, the sound of a weapon being unsheathed.

A streak of black and one of indigo were suddenly tearing toward the creature, more snow flying in their wake as Kanzas and Rose ran up the small hill's crest, cloaks whipping behind them. They gave each other glares as they went, holding their weapons steady as the rest of the people behind them stared after in shock.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped at him, moving to the left as they got near.

Going the other way, he retorted, "What does it _look_ like, Rose? Destroying this thing!"

She made a scoffing noise. "You don't even know what it is!"

"Do you really think I care?" he called back, approaching the machine and raising his hands as it rocked itself up on its strange legs. The claw the Violet Dragoon wore was a new one he'd gotten in Vellweb; one large curving blade was attached to the outside of a supple armored leather glove, leaving him free to flex his fingers and still keep hold of it.

However, as the machine-thing started to retract its barrel so it would be able to spin the weighted balls on its arms, he kept his hands back, jumping to plant one foot on its chest and kick up at the small dome-like head with the other. It reared back, its arms jerking wildly, and Rose from behind it twisted inward to drive the point of her sword into the joint at its 'waist' and wrench it hard sideways, severing thin tubing inside it.

Kanzas landed from his flip into a crouch, waiting only a moment before leaping forward and dragging the point of his claw through the metal carapace; it tore easily before the blade wedged into something inside it too hard to cut. He raised his other arm, wincing as the creature's spinning limb smacked hard against his armguard.

It stopped the whirling heavy spheres, though he had to struggle to keep it from moving, and with a look of concentration Rose whipped her slender blade upward and down again from above, driving it deep into the whirring machinery. They both stepped back, yanking their weapons from the rust-orange shell, and watched silently as it collapsed in on itself with a clatter.

Finally, giving him a suspicious look, the woman murmured, "What are you after, Kanzas?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but a moment later Diaz arrived next to them, bringing his horse to a halt a short distance away from the pile of metal, and he closed it again with a snap.

"Impressive," their ruler said slowly, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

"My lord," Kanzas asked, turning to him suddenly, "is everyone safe?" He ignored the narrowing of Rose's eyes, forcing himself not to snicker. _That's right, wonder what I'm up to, Rose. Always, always wonder…_

If Diaz noticed anything was amiss, he didn't show it, nodding as he leaned forward over the long-eared animal's head to peer at the remains of the machine. "Yes, it seems we were all just startled. What _is_ this thing?"

"I don't know, Lord Diaz," Rose said, her face hardening angrily when she heard Kanzas badly restrain a snort of laughter. Straightening her shoulders and sheathing her sword, she went on, "The important thing is-"

The sound of footsteps interrupted her, and Matthi staggered up to them, bending momentarily to catch his breath. The small guard had trouble making his way through the snow, which drifted in places nearly to his chest, and his face had gone almost as pink as his hair. "Better… get back from it," he panted, heaving his sword from its sheath and holding it in front of him as he stared down at the destroyed creature.

"You're a little late," Kanzas started to inform him, but then suddenly he too twisted toward the heap of scrap, raising an eyebrow as it began making beeping noises, the three arms shifting and the feet twitching slightly. "What the hell?"

Rose shook her head, frowning. "I thought we destroyed it. How can it be moving?"

"Matthi?" Diaz queried, looking down at the Mininto. "What do you know about this?"

Aiming the point of his blade toward the creature, he sighed, answering, "It's what we call _borynk_, my lord - Humans say 'Mininto mining machine', M-Three. This one must have gone rogue, gotten away from its mine. If we leave it here, it will repair itself and follow us again."

"Yeah," Kanzas bit off sourly, "and how can some machine do that, anyway?"

The ruler of Gloriano nodded, backing his horse away another few steps. "Then you know what you must do, Matthi."

"I know," he responded, shifting the gold and blue hilt of his sword in his small gloved hands. "I just really don't want to."

Crossing her arms, Rose demanded irritably - but politely, "My lord, what are you talking about?"

"We made these machines," the Mininto put in evenly, "my people made them to help those slaves forced to labor in the mines. They can work tirelessly in dangerous places, and fumes and rock dust can't hurt them. They can even fix themselves, but in order to do that we had to give them… give them self-awareness."

"Mininto magic can do that?" the dark-haired woman breathed.

Kanzas snorted derisively. "Oh, and that's real kind of you."

"Don't," Matthi spat, his brows knitted into an uncharacteristic scowl. "Yes, we can do it - and would you rather real living beings lost their lives working for the Winglies? It's just enough magic to make them like… smart machines." He poked at the M-Three with his sword, distinctly unhappy, and bowed his head, taking a deep breath. "This doesn't usually happen, and now I have to take care of it, so just let me do it, okay? My lord, sir and lady - would you please stand away?"

Silently, Diaz turned the horse, moving back toward the waiting column of soldiers. More slowly, Rose and Kanzas followed him, though they stopped halfway to turn back and stare, temporarily united in their curiosity.

The Mininto stood frozen in front of the heap of trembling metal for a moment before straightening up and resting the long blade of his sword on his black- and green-armored shoulder. Slowly, he extended his other hand, fingers splayed wide. As he let out a resigned sigh, a pale yellow mist began to swirl in front of his palm, growing brighter as it expanded.

_What's he doing?_ Kanzas thought, amber eyes wide as he felt something pulling inside his chest, half-reminding him of the feel of magic right before it hit, but nothing came-

And then, just as suddenly, the light stopped growing, and Matthi bent forward, touching his glowing hand to the creature's small dome. The glow disappeared like a candle going out, turning the pain into a sucking feeling of nothingness.

Rose gasped, staggering slightly, and caught hold of Kanzas' shoulder to keep upright, though a moment later she let go as if burned by the brief touch. "I… felt that," she murmured vacantly, crossing her arms in front of her almost protectively. "Like my… my soul was draining away…"

"So why didn't you stand _back_?" Matthi demanded, his voice strained and shaking as he suddenly swung his sword from his shoulder, letting it fall from his hand into the snow next to his feet.

She couldn't answer him, her eyes flicking toward the ground. Kanzas only growled softly at the Mininto's bowed figure before turning to stalk back toward the column, the woman doing the same a few moments later.

Looking up as they came near, Shirley stood from where she'd been kneeling to help a guard who'd been cut by a flying piece of rock that had been hidden in the snow. "Kanzas, why did you…?" she asked as she approached him, reaching out to grab his arm as he went by.

Tilting back his head, he looked down at the red-haired woman and smiled. "Spirit needed energy," he told her with an easy shrug. It hadn't needed very much, though, thanks to his fight with Shynn two days ago. "It might as well be ready if Diaz is gonna want us to show off later."

"Oh… that's right," she responded, letting go of his arm and frowning as she unconsciously reached toward the new bow she carried on her back. She'd used up her own store of energy in the arena, so she'd have to find something else as well. "But," Shirley went on, confused, "the creature that attacked us, wasn't it just a machine?"

"Yeah, that's a funny thing," he answered quietly, turning his head to look back up on the ridge, where Matthi still stood crumpled as if in mourning. "It was a machine, but it had a spirit anyway…"

* * *

The convoy had finally reached Magrad the night of the second day of travel, and the next morning dawned bright and clear, sun sparkling on the many enduring layers of snow around the fort. Thousands of encampments dotted the snowfields surrounding the spike-domed walls, fires burning brightly in their pale surroundings. At least ten thousand men had been gathered stealthily under Diaz's flag, but after today Humans would no longer need to hide their strength from the Winglies' eyes - nor would they be able to. 

Most of the soldiers and warriors were up with the first sunlight, making preparations for the gathering, and thanks to the noise very few of the rest were still asleep, either. All across Fort Magrad, people moved purposefully like insects in a hive, filled with suspense and anticipation.

However, there was nothing to be felt but fear and frustration for the newest and youngest Dragoon. Damia stood in one small room of the fort's training hall, barely holding onto her new niello-engraved hammer with one hand, her head bowed to hide her face from the man standing across from her. "Please, Belzac," she forced out, her voice shaking. "There's g-gotta be another way!"

"I'm sorry," he answered with a sigh, "but all the Dragoon Spirits work like this. You have to be able to transform for the ceremonial, Damia."

"Why?" she demanded loudly before biting down hard on her lip to keep it from trembling. He didn't even have to reply before she went on, "I know… I know… but can't I just find something…?"

Belzac shook his head. "There are too many people here now," he answered gently. "There won't be any creatures nearby."

He watched with vague sadness as the girl struggled with herself, trying to draw herself up straight and square her shoulders. She had not been prepared to become a Dragoon like he and the others were. She hadn't known three days ago that she would be here now, would be forced to fight. Once again, Belzac had to wonder about the intent of the deity who had woven their fates.

"I can't do it!" she finally cried out, sliding down to her knees, the dark fabric of her new leggings scratching along the rough mats covering the floor. She slammed the hammer down onto the mats angrily, breathing hard as she fought to control herself.

"I can wait," the large man told her quietly, remaining standing in place across from her.

"This is so unfair," Damia cried, adjusting her grip on the hammer's handle over and over again, her teal hair falling down over her shoulders, waving around her back. "He's laughing at me, too! Just like everyone else…"

Belzac frowned, tilting his head to the side. _If anyone else is here, they'll regret it._ "Who is?" he asked curiously.

"The dragon," the half-mermaid muttered back, pulling the spirit from where it was pinned to the collar of her white and blue tunic and lifting it up toward him without raising her head.

He leaned down to peer into it, seeing nothing strange - but maybe the mist inside was swirling faster than usual? Obviously, she was more in tune with the thing than he was, but still… "Why would it laugh? The Blue Sea Dragon chose _you_," Belzac told her sternly, straightening again. "He apparently made that very clear."

She shuddered visibly at the memory of falling from the tower circle, almost absently pinning the small orb back through her button loop before getting back up to her feet, shifting the weight of the engraved steel weapon she held in her small hands. "M'sorry, Belzac," she sobbed, barely audible.

"There is," he whispered back, spreading his hands, "no need…"

Gritting her teeth, Damia let out an angered, pained cry as she lunged forward, the hammer whirling in an arc of silver before connecting hard with Belzac's forearm. Her tears shone on her cheeks as she spun around, hitting upward in a glancing blow to his chest; he shifted his weight to take it without stumbling, tensed against the pain.

Though she couldn't put much force into her strikes, they certainly did more than sting. But he stood there and waited, letting her hit him until her orb had collected enough of his spirit energy and she could transform.

"That's awful!" she gasped out as she stood back, raising her hand toward the spirit before suddenly hurling the hammer across the room. It crashed into the wall and fell with a hard clunk to the floor as the Dragoon screamed, "I felt it drawing out your life! I hate it! I hate it!"

"I'm all right, Damia," he tried to reassure her, feeling only a little bruised, but she brushed off his words, shaking her head hard. The half-Giganto frowned to himself; he had not been happy when he'd found that the twelve-year-old was being forced to fight alongside them, but there was nothing they could do about it.

"Why do the dragons make us do this?" she demanded, her face flushed, the small scatter of scales under her eye bright against her skin. "I wanted to help you and Lord Diaz and everyone, but this - we're fighting the Winglies to help the dragons and everyone else too, so why do we have to hurt people to do it?"

Belzac shrugged, reaching out to put his hand on her shoulder and sighing as she ducked away, her arms wrapped around herself. "The Dragoon Spirit needs energy to work - there's just no other way."

Sucking in a deep breath as if to shout once more, she finally just covered her face in her hands briefly. "Thank you," she breathed, "and I'm sorry," before turning and running from the room, the door swinging open wildly in her wake.

He crossed his arms and turned in place to watch her go, sadness written across his face. _No,_ he thought at her, _I'm sorry, Damia. I'm the one who should be sorry…_

* * *

Metal scraped along the edge of a whetstone, the sound scratching rhythmically against his eardrums as he stood waiting outside the training hall. Sighing, Kanzas leaned back against the retaining wall that lined the path to the door and tipped his head back far enough to rest it on the top of the stones, his fingers laced behind his neck. Sitting on top of the wall next to him, Syuveil continued honing the blade of his spear, the morning light glistening off its shining, sharp point. 

The Dragoon stared up at the sky, listening to the commotion going on around them. The much-smaller fortress sounded like Vellweb today, a noise he still hadn't quite gotten used to. _If I was home again, _Kanzas thought, _there'd be the river and the wind and not a lot else. And there damn well wouldn't be that annoying grating-_ "It's only not sharp enough yet if you're trying to make it into a needle," he griped, not bothering to turn his head.

"Oh, I didn't mean to," Syuveil said immediately, lowering the whetstone and leaning forward. Though his dark blonde hair would have fallen in his eyes before, the singed part had since been cut away, leaving him with just a ragged fringe on his forehead. "I guess I wasn't paying attention."

"Not much to pay attention to," he responded, shrugging a little. It was not a comment that required an answer, and the younger man remained silent, fiddling with the cuff of his gray-green sleeve and staring down at the ground.

Two of the voices not far away briefly became clearer to his ears, and Kanzas rolled his eyes at the sound of Zieg and Rose's laughter mingling with the clash of metal on metal as they sparred in the training hall's yard beyond the wall. A war was going to begin today, yet they could still joke together as if they were sure they weren't going to meet a horrible, premature end.

What was he _doing_ here, anyway? He knew what Wingly magic could do to Humans, especially those who hadn't built up a tolerance to it. There were tens of thousands of men gathered in and encamped around Magrad, and how many of those were going to survive blasts of fire, pillars of falling rock, or icicles piercing to the heart? He knew what was going to happen - so why in the world was he still here?

Because he'd made a deal, he realized, thinking of Shirley. Besides, if he left, how could he do what he'd told her he would? She needed him, though she wouldn't admit it, and he could see inside her something as cold and fierce and beautiful as a falling star. All he had to do was just tear it free.

Oh, but there was going to be such a lot of death…

"Wait - are you… Kanzas, is that right? Didn't ever think I'd see you around here."

The sound of the oddly familiar voice disturbed his thoughts, and Kanzas jerked upright again, somewhat startled, before spinning to face its owner. A rather tall man with short, tousled sandy hair and hazel eyes stood before him, clad in layers of thin clothing and with a spear strapped to his back. "Yeah," he began suspiciously, brow furrowed as he tried to remember where he'd seen him before, "and who are you?"

He blinked, as if surprised, and then chuckled, shaking his head. "My name's Donar," he announced. "I met you in Kadessa." As Syuveil jumped down from the wall, he looked over at him and gave a nod, which the Jade Dragoon returned upon straightening up again.

_Kadessa?_ Kanzas thought back to the arena, trying to place the name and the face. There'd been some idiot who'd come up to him when he'd been trying to free Taranis… the leader of the gladiators? "Ah, I remember now," he said disinterestedly, scratching briefly at his beard. "I guess you weren't killed after all."

"Yeah, well, being hit by a chain's not gonna kill me," he laughed, raising a hand to poke at his chest. "Still got a welt from where the damn thing hit, though. It knocked me out; I'm surprised I wasn't killed anyway by something else." Crossing his arms, Donar angled his head and went on, "What I could never figure was why you were trying to free that dragon in the first place-"

"Because he's _my_ dragon. The Violet Electric Dragon, Taranis," he answered strongly. Though he was about to go on, he heard Syuveil clear his throat, and glanced over at him. The warning look was unmistakable, and he sighed instead in annoyance, turning his eyes back to Donar.

He ducked his head as if to hide his smile. "Your dragon, hm? But there's something you can't say. Fair enough, I won't snoop." He looked back up again, waving his hand dismissively, and gazed around at Magrad's layers of tiered walks and buildings, watching the people bustling around for a moment. "I didn't know there were so many free Humans left in the world," Donar murmured thoughtfully.

He and Syuveil were supposed to wait here for the others to arrive, but this was getting really annoying. Kanzas was quite tempted to just brush Donar off anyway and go. After all, it wasn't like he was going to miss that ceremony, not when everyone within a mile was going to try to see it. He cracked his knuckles and stretched his fingers, conscious that it was his turn to continue. "Anyway, so you escaped too," he finally got out. "Why are you here, then? To fight again?"

"Of course." He shrugged, continuing, "Actually, I'm here to speak for Clan Serdio - what's left of it, that is. Ten people or so aren't much of a clan."

At this Syuveil raised his head, interest in his green eyes for the first time. "Forgive me for intruding," he put in, "but are you saying what I believe you are? Clan Serdio numbers in the hundreds-"

Donar laughed shortly. "Yeah, it did, but not anymore, thanks to the Winglies. How do you think I got to the arena, ah-?"

"Syuveil," the scholar introduced quickly, brushing back his green and brown cloak to give a half-bow. "I too serve Lord Diaz."

"Well met," he returned, adjusting the straps of his pack in an unconscious gesture as he nodded. "But as I said, the Winglies attacked us several weeks ago. They didn't seem too interested in taking slaves, just killing. Of all our clan villages in the Eastlands, only a few of us were taken to the Slave City, and even fewer to the arena. I was just an ordinary warrior in the Guard… and now I'm what passes for clan elder." He laughed again, but the laugh was very bitter.

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Syuveil sighed, "How unfortunate. Attacks like this are becoming all too common lately, even within Gloriano's borders."

"Hn," Kanzas snorted, "Winglies don't care about borders." He fell silent again, though this time it was because he'd felt something, a strange tugging sensation centered somewhere inside him. Suddenly grabbing at his wrist, he spun around, narrowing his eyes. "Stop _doing_ that!" he snapped, though with less force than he might normally have used.

"Forgive me," Shirley apologized with a smile as she neared, her hand falling away from the Dragoon Spirit hanging at her neck. She briefly squeezed his arm, looking amused at his sour expression. "I wanted to see if it still worked, and it looks like-" Noticing Donar there, she cut herself off, turning to him and greeting neutrally, "Oh, hello."

He gave her a polite bow, eyes alighting with recognition. "I remember you," he blurted out. "It's good to see you're still alive, too."

She frowned quizzically, a bit startled by the statement. "I'm sorry, but…"

"He was in the arena," the Thunder Dragoon sighed, waving his hand uncaringly. He quickly hoisted himself up to the top of the wall and balanced there in a squat. "And he was just leaving."

"Kanzas," she murmured reproachfully before smiling at the other Human; despite her best efforts, the smile was a bit thin, tainted by the bad memories of the arena resurfacing. "I'm glad someone else survived. It was a horrible place."

Donar shrugged in regret, having ignored the other man's remark. "Still is, I'm sure. Don't think it took them very long to fix the damage. Too bad the new fighters won't have you to throw them weapons - you're a brave lady."

It felt strange, blushing at the same time as her heart plunged into her stomach with remorse. _Not brave enough, I'm afraid, _Shirley thought, shaking her head as if to ward off the praise. "We all did what we could at the time," she answered faintly.

"Is that Damia?" Syuveil asked suddenly, his attention caught by the small figure standing down the path, waiting patiently some distance away. He waved at her, calling, "Damia, we're over here!"

"I think she knows, Syuveil," Shirley told him, turning to look back at the young girl. "She's been there a while, said she wasn't feeling well…"

However, at the sound of the other Dragoon's voice, the half-mermaid lifted her head, hesitating before moving to join them, her fingers flicking over her hair, brushing it down over her eye as she had before. She clasped her hands behind her back, her gaze downcast shyly. "H'lo, Syuveil," she mumbled, her cheeks pink, before adding, "and everyone."

"Didn't you bring your hammer?" he asked her curiously, adjusting his glasses with his forefinger. "You'll need it for - for later…" He trailed off, the thought of Damia as a Dragoon making him remember what had happened with Shynn. He hadn't been allowed to see for himself, but from what he'd heard there wasn't much of his friend left intact to bury in the spring.

"My hammer? Um, I think Belzac has it," she answered a bit hastily, not noticing his sudden melancholy. "I… must have left it behind."

Feeling someone's gaze fixed on her, she looked up. Noticing the stranger among the group, Damia froze in place, wearing an uncomfortable expression. This was mostly because Donar, shocked, couldn't take his eyes off her - he could only look at the teal-haired girl, oblivious to the odd glances of the others around him, until a new voice, filled with false pleasantness, broke him from his reverie.

"It's not polite to stare, friend." However, Belzac, his gigantic axe strapped to his back, carrying Damia's hammer negligently in one hand, had made that sound a bit other than friendly, and the Human man jumped and coughed sheepishly into his hand.

"Sorry," Donar said immediately as she turned her head away sharply. "Didn't mean to - it's just that - well, never mind…"

Raising his eyebrow, the half-Giganto didn't reply, simply holding out the engraved weapon head-first to its owner. Damia silently took it back from him, letting it hang from one hand. He then glanced over the wall they were next to into the training hall's yard and called, "Zieg, Rose! We should get going!"

"Right!" Zieg's voice came floating to their ears; a moment later, the sound of footsteps rang out as the two ran and vaulted up over the wall. As the Fire Dragoon landed neatly on the path, Rose swung her legs over right next to where Kanzas was crouched, knocking him off-balance and off the wall.

The two hit the ground at the same time, Rose alighting easily with just a slight stumble as the russet-haired man was forced to catch himself with his hands and twist back down to his feet, scattering the others as they hurried to jump out of his way. "Damn it, Rose!" he snarled, smoldering with anger.

She rolled her eyes as her fiancé tried not to laugh, brushing the folds of her indigo wrap smooth again. "Well, watch where you sit!"

"You _saw_ me sitting there!" he protested heatedly, his annoyance not abating when Shirley put her hand on his arm in warning. Divine Tree, but he was tired of people holding him back all the time!

Donar blinked at Rose, running a hand through his sandy hair nervously. "And you're the woman fighter the soldiers here have been talking about. You have some interesting friends, Kanzas."

_Friends, ha!_ he thought with a snort. He couldn't call them that - could he? Some of them, maybe, but… "You have no idea," the Dragoon said instead.

Eyeing the seven of them again, he finally shook his head, taking an unconscious step backward, and glanced up to check the sun's position in the sky. "Looks like it's almost midday," Donar said a little hastily, his face still rather pale. "I ought to get going to the square; I'm pledging my clan's support to Diaz."

"For what good it'll do," Kanzas muttered scornfully, though not quiet enough to avoid being heard.

"If it can do any good, then it's good," the man responded. "If I can kill even one Wingly, keep just one of the bastards from destroying us, I'll die happy." Leaving it there, Donar shrugged and turned to move away. "See you around."

Unconcerned, Zieg barely waited until he was out of earshot before telling the others, "He's right, it is almost time. Everyone's spirit orb ready, then?"

"All taken care of, Zieg," Belzac told him, and the others also confirmed it. He quickly glanced toward Damia, who stood in absolute nervousness, her head bowed. However, a moment later she looked up to meet his gaze, giving him a quick grimace of a smile and taking a deep breath.

The blonde man gave a nod of satisfaction, and without another word, the Dragoons walked together toward Magrad's main square. Strangely, the thick crowd of soldiers gathering in the area gave way before them, leaving the road ahead clear - almost as if they could sense, in the backs of their minds, how important this unlikely group was going to be.

* * *

The noon sun filled the center of the fort with its golden light, reflecting off the drifts of snow that edged the walkways above. As many people as possible lined the walls, sat on roofs, and were packed into the square itself, all watching the one man wearing dark-orange armor. He stood composedly next to the huge, rough statue of himself that loomed over everyone. Standing ahead of the rest in an even semicircle around the platform were the seven Dragoons, waiting with various degrees of impatience for the long ritual to draw to its close. Outside the fort, thousands more lingered. 

The leaders of the free Human clans had been given places at the front of the area, and as the ceremony wore on each came forward to pledge their support to Lord Diaz, giving him their loyalty and their warriors. He accepted each deep bow or kneeling declaration with a nod of his own, the brown curls of his hair oddly bare. At his side stood Lord General Tibero, holding his ruler's crown across his palms reverently.

Most of the clan elders were indeed old, which made Donar all the more noticeable as he took his turn to make his pledge for Clan Serdio, dropping to his knee before Diaz. When he stood and turned to go back to his place, his eyes flicked across the crowd, catching on Damia once more before he saw Belzac, who scowled, making him look away quickly.

At the very last, Tibero turned to the man next to him, his iron-gray beard sweeping the stone below as he knelt. Clan Feld was the largest, strongest Human clan, its strength most needed during the struggle to come. Zieg looked on proudly as the elder proffered the ornate golden crown to Diaz, stating, "I, Tibero Feld, do swear loyalty to Diaz and Gloriano. With our blood and lives shall we serve you!"

Cheers rang out as, drawing his sword from its sheath, Diaz raised it and then rested the flat of the blade lightly on the older man's shoulder. "I do accept your loyalty and your service, Tibero Feld, Lord General! Rise!" When he'd stood again, the nobleman turned to face the crowd surrounding him. "As all have sworn, I declare the Human clans united at last! We who are blessed by the fate of Soa - Holy Imperial Gloriano!" Slowly, Diaz knelt down, his head slightly bowed as Tibero placed the crown on his head.

The cheers grew in volume as the new emperor rose before them, letting them cry out for a moment before raising his hand to stop them. Watching almost directly in front of him, Shirley smiled, shaking her head fondly as she knew that, of course, Diaz was now going to speak.

"As all of you here today know, we Humans and the other species of the world have long suffered the tyranny of the Winglies," he began strongly. "Many have been the injustices they inflicted on our ancestors, and under the rule of Melbu Frahma these injustices grow. We are enslaved by them, our land is stolen by them, we are ordered to worship them - and now the final stone has been laid upon our backs. Now they threaten the lives of our children!"

A roar ran through the crowd of outrage; the news had spread quickly about the newest decree from the Palace of the Winglies. Rose, standing tall at the front right side of the square, pressed her palm over her heart as if it ached, her head bowed.

Letting the indignation settle slightly, Diaz went on, turning slowly as to look at everyone. "Yes, though the stone they lay is heavy indeed, we _will not_ break! It is time to throw off our burdens and to topple our oppressors from the skies! But how, it might be asked, can Humans overthrow the Wingly race, they who claim they were created to rule?"

_This is it,_ Kanzas thought, biting hard on his lip. _Somehow, watching this, I can almost believe-_

Pacing slightly, his face flushed, the emperor continued, "Seven years ago, I decided we should suffer their abuses no more. In order for us to live, the Winglies must perish! I prayed for an answer, and the gods revealed to me the secret of the power that will turn the tide - the power of the dragons!"

There was a murmur at that, and at the front of the crowd Damia took a deep breath, her hands folded up tightly to her chest. When she looked up, she saw Syuveil standing nearby; he gave her an encouraging smile, one she did her very best to return.

"For seven years the power has been gathered, and at long last we have been proven worthy to take it into our hands. The long search has ended. The long wait is over!" He turned toward the onlookers, thrusting out his hands. "_This_ is the power that will liberate us-!"

The explosion of color and sound sent the men standing behind the Dragoons back a short distance, exclamations of surprise sounding as around the circular platform the seven elements burst into being with bright flashes of light. Moments later, winged figures flew just above, clad in strange, shimmering armor, sparks of magic drifting everywhere as the Dragoons finished their transformations.

Just when it seemed a panic might ensue, Diaz's shout stopped them, a commanding tone that made them almost unconsciously turn back. "See with your own eyes the might of dragon within Human! These incarnations of the mightiest of our allies will lead us to a new world! Blessed by the gods, the Dragon Knights of Holy Imperial Gloriano shall wash away the crimes of the Winglies with blood for blood, tears for tears! What we desire is freedom! Or give us death!"

Slowly, and then with more fervor, an echoing cry caught on, the soldiers roaring back, "God bless Diaz! God bless Gloriano!"

"I am to bring light to the Humans' future! I am to pass judgment on the past of the Winglies! I am Diaz!"

"God bless Diaz! God bless Gloriano!" they repeated, thrusting hands in the air as they cried it again and again. "God bless Diaz! God bless Gloriano!"

"All you who have sworn before me to serve, your loyalty will not long be unrewarded. Let no darkness cloud your vision! These Dragoons you see before you, warriors dragon and yet Human still, will set out for the south before the sun, and I declare, upon these sacred stones, that at next dawn's light the first blow will be struck! Let the army that waits for us perish while ours prepares our next assault!"

Shirley immediately looked at Belzac, who had a similar expression of shock on his face. They were both thinking the same thing: _We're attacking tomorrow morning!_

However, Diaz did not go on to explain further, merely turning to Rose and Zieg with a glint of amusement in his eye, while the crowd around them continued to scream out their approval. "You; I heard you are going to have a wedding after this campaign." He waited as Rose nodded, stunned, and Zieg gave him a broad grin. He smiled gently, adding in the same quieter tone, "There is no guarantee of coming back alive."

"Even if one of us dies," the blonde Dragoon announced brightly, "our bonds of affection are forever."

Rose gave him a half-reproachful glance, obviously not expecting this at all. "Zieg," she said chidingly, though with warmth clearly shining through.

"Your eyes are already looking at our future!" the emperor cried out as the other Humans shrieked in approval, ready to do anything for this man standing before them. He smiled again, turning back toward the people, raising his hand in the air as he shouted, "Then I will realize the future for you…!"

* * *

Plans for the attack the next morning had gone on well into evening before the seven Dragoons and their lord had separated again for the night. Everyone knew what they were going to do, though few of them felt very excited at the thought of this first, most important fight. 

Stifling a yawn, Shirley paused before opening the door to her inn room, listening to the faint sounds of the flute playing within. She swung it open quietly, peeking around the edge to see Damia sitting cross-legged on the bed near the shuttered window, her fingers flying across the holes of the silver instrument as she coaxed a fast tune from it. Her eyes were closed, her expression calm and peaceful in the low light of the bedside candle.

After a minute or so, she changed her tempo, dropping into slow, lazy music that lasted until she caught a glimpse of the woman standing there and immediately broke it off. "Oh, Shirley, you scared me," the half-mermaid blurted, swinging her legs to the side to stand up.

"No, don't," she said hastily, waving her hands as she came into the room before closing the door behind her. "I'm sorry for startling you, but I didn't want to interrupt."

"Oh," she answered, her face reddening, her hand clenched around the flute. "I was just messing around."

Shaking her head as she reached for her pack, which was leaning against the wall, Shirley smiled. "It was beautiful, Damia. I've been meaning to ask you since the feast how you learned to play so well."

Quiet for a while, she looked down at the flute in her hands, turning it to catch the soft yellow light. "Mother taught me," she finally said. "Her pipes weren't like this - just a shell, and holes, but it played the best music ever. And she played with the breath of the ocean and the sun and the gulls in the sky."

_Maybe that's what I heard, that strange tone in her music, _Shirley thought, pulling her nightgown from her pack and folding it in her arms as she turned to face the other Dragoon, who seemed lost in her thoughts.

The girl sighed, looking up again. "I don't remember too much about Mother, or our home near the shining island; I was too little when the Winglies took me away. But I remember what she showed me, how to play. I'm not as good, though. And metal doesn't call the waves, but Belzac gave this to me when we left Vellweb."

"That was nice of him," she commented, peeling off her jacket before sitting on the edge of the other bed to tug at her fur-lined boots. "Maybe we can visit your island someday, Damia, if you wouldn't mind it. The water off the coast of Gloriano is always cold…"

Looking at the silver flute again, she smiled and nodded before leaning down to tuck it into her own pack, pulling her legs close to her chest. "That'd be nice, Shirley," she answered, fiddling with the ends of a long lock of teal hair. "I do still miss the water."

When she'd changed into the long white shift, she crossed over to the other side of the small room to join Damia, sitting on the bed and after a moment's hesitation putting her arm around the twelve-year-old's shoulders. "Is there something bothering you?"

"It's… just…" She drew in a deep, shaky breath before bending to hide her face against her upraised knees. "I'm so scared to fight tomorrow!" the girl sobbed. "All those Winglies, and I don't know how and I don't know what to do and-"

Not even thinking about it, Shirley pulled her into her arms, letting her cry against her shoulder. "There's no shame in being scared," she murmured quietly, rocking her gently.

Drawing in a shaking breath, she went on, her voice muffled, "I don't want to die, Shirley, I don't want to die-"

As she stroked Damia's hair, she stared across the inn room as if she could see through the wall, shaking her head in regret. There had been shouting earlier; Belzac was very angry about Damia's part in the attack tomorrow. There hadn't been much time to train her to fight, and she'd only transformed twice now. She also knew that, apart from his anger, the half-Giganto was afraid for her, too.

"Damia," Shirley began, holding her tighter, "this might not help, but… I think we're just going to have to trust this is right, that this is meant to happen and it will be all right. You have to trust in your own magic, trust that you truly are the incarnation of a dragon. We're all seven of us dragons inside, who were chosen, and we have the power to save everyone…"

She made a little choking laugh, tilting her teary eyes up to meet the older woman's. "I don't feel like a dragon," she whispered. "We have to kill the Winglies to save everyone, don't we? I don't think I can do it, Shirley! Their eyes are like mine, a-and they're alive too, even if they want to hurt us!"

"I know," she answered back painfully, eyelashes fluttering quickly to hold back the tears. "War is terrible, it's against Human nature… and yet…"

And yet, what other course was available to them? She too had no desire to kill even Winglies, but she knew that she would, that her arrows would find their marks and only later would she allow herself to grieve for the lives she had taken.

Slowly, as if in response to the halfhearted excuse, the girl moved her hand, slipping the necklace of Shirley's spirit orb out from under the neck of her shift. "If I was like you…" Damia said as she drew her fingers over the white-silver marble's glassy surface, her gaze downcast. "If I was strong like you and the others, then I could hurt and heal with the same hands…"

Shirley tensed in shock at the words, opening her mouth to respond but unable to gather an answer. "Damia…" she finally got out, the name forced from her lips.

Sighing, she pulled away from unresisting arms, raising her hands to the pin of her own Dragoon Spirit, attached to the collar of her nightgown, and gently unfastening it. "But I can't even heal with my spirit," she murmured sadly, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "I guess I can only hurt."

"That's not true," she whispered, shocking the half-mermaid with her vehemence. "That's never true."

When Damia looked up again, there was grim amusement on her face, the trace of scales on her cheek catching the candlelight. "Being a Dragoon's just like being a slave, isn't it, Shirley? I didn't choose it. I didn't want it." Pulling back her hand, she shifted to her knees as if to throw the blue orb across the room - but a moment later sat back on her heels, her fingers trembling as she clutched the spirit back to her chest. "And I can't run away, either!"

"Do you want to?" she asked after a moment, standing up and crossing to the pitcher and washbasin on the little table nearby. "If you could give it back, would you?"

"Yes!" she returned immediately, though a moment later her face fell and she looked down at the shining orb in her hands, amending, "But I…"

_I understand what you're feeling now, and I do wish fate hadn't chosen you, I do…_ "We will do our best to help you, Damia, I promise." Sadness in her movements, Shirley slowly folded a cloth and dipped it in the water before returning to dab at the tearstains on Damia's pale cheeks. She tried half-heartedly to brush her hand away before giving a sigh and letting her do it, eyelids closing in relaxation.

In the stillness, voices could be heard drifting up the stairs from the inn's common room below. Someone could be heard protesting something lightheartedly, followed by rowdy male laughter. A few minutes later, footsteps rang on the wooden stairs, and then the door to the room swung inward once more.

Damia's eyes flew open, but when she saw who it was she let them close again; Shirley glanced back as well before continuing to wash away the tears. Slipping through, Rose closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, heaving a sigh of exasperation although she still wore a smile. "Honestly," she began before noticing the mood in the room and cutting herself off.

Standing away from the door, she gave Shirley a questioning look. The red-haired woman gestured with her chin at the Dragoon Spirit in Damia's hands, but said nothing in response. Tucking her hands behind her back, Rose sighed and gave the small inn room a critical look, noting the obvious fact that there were only two beds.

"I wish there'd been some other place for us to stay," she commented after a while.

"Magrad's overflowing with people now," Shirley told her, finally wringing out the cloth and putting it back on the table with an absent pat. "I don't mind having to share, even if we _are_ Dragoons," she finished with a quick ironic smile.

Damia sat back on top of the woolen coverlet and pinned her spirit back to the neck of her nightdress. "I don't mind - I mean, if you'll stay with me tonight?" she began haltingly, giving Shirley a pleading look which she recognized was a request to not tell Rose about her worries.

"Of course," she answered, smiling again before looking to Rose. "You can have the other bed, then, for tonight."

"All right," she replied with a shrug, her blue eyes glittering with sudden amusement as she reached for her own pack leaned against the wall. "I did offer to stay with Zieg, but the innkeeper, of course, she'd have none of that. I expect she'll be prowling the halls to prevent scandalous encounters - but it's not as if everyone doesn't know that we're engaged, now, anyway."

Chuckling, Shirley sat next to Damia again as Rose fished out her own nightclothes and began to change. "You might be suspicious, but please don't blame me, Rose - I'm not the one who told Lor- Emperor Diaz about it."

"I know," she sighed, straightening out the sleeveless shift before pouring more water into the basin and washing her face. "It was Zieg himself, of course, and after we'd agreed not to tell, too. Well, there's nothing to be done about it now…" The Darkness Dragoon gave a look at the wall that divided their room from the next. "I'm surprised there's not more arguing over there, too, but they don't seem to have any problem with it."

Making a noise of agreement, Shirley shrugged; the four men had been given one room as well, although there were three beds in that one. "I don't expect Kanzas will want to stay there, anyway, so they probably won't have to share after all," she said as if to explain the lack of yelling.

"I'm sure you're right," Rose answered neutrally, walking over to them and gesturing for permission. Shirley nodded, and she sat at the end of their bed, watching the flickering of the bedside candle for a moment. "It's strange, but I'm almost enjoying this," she said, drawing up her knees and resting her arms on them. "I grew up alone, as you know, and nights could be very… quiet, and lonely, sometimes."

"Not for me," Damia put in a little shyly as they turned their heads to look at her and waited for her to go on. "I always stayed with my mother, and after that with the other kids in the quarters, when I had a master. And then in the room with the kids at school. When-when I get my room, in the tower, it'll be the first time I've been alone."

"It's still a bit strange for me, having my own bed in my tower," Shirley agreed, smiling a bit fondly at the reminiscence. "Until I was sent to the temple in the Birth City, I had all my little brothers and sisters to keep me warm. We slept on mats in the corner like - like a litter of puppies in a pile."

Rose nodded slowly, the corner of her mouth quirked up. "I wished I had siblings, sometimes, too. That would have been nice, I think. It's silly, but I used to be so afraid of the dark, by myself at night."

"Nice, sometimes," she laughed back. "Other times, though, someone would be snoring, or it would get too hot, or someone would steal all the blankets…" Trailing off, she finished to herself, _I don't ever think I was scared of the dark, then, though. Not until later._

"Well, please don't snore," the dark-haired woman said, standing again and giving them a pleasant look that lit up her usually guarded expression. "Mind if I blow out the candle? I know it's a bit early, but we should be getting our rest."

Shirley nodded, and with a breath the light fled, leaving the inn room in shadow except for a large streak of moonlight shining in from a gap in the shutters. In the silence, it was easy to hear the wind rattling the panels against the frame of the window. "Better close that," she muttered, pulling back the covers and clambering over the bed as Damia scooted to the side to let her reach the window.

There was movement in the street below when she glanced through the gap, and as she looked down, the sound of a familiar voice caught her attention. "You're worse than fungus for turning up where you're not wanted, Clan Elder."

"It's not as though I was looking for you, but since you're here, I want to talk to you," another man replied. "Now I know what you wanted with freeing that dragon-"

"So what?" Kanzas snapped back, crossing his arms beneath his long black cloak. Donar remained standing behind him, the lanky Human still carrying all his possessions strapped to his back. "I already told you why I was there."

Furtively, the young woman opened the shutters a little more, peering out. "What're you doing, Shirley?" Damia whispered next to her, pulling the blanket up over her arms against the sudden chill of the draft.

Rose chuckled from where she'd settled in on the other side of the small room, already sounding half-asleep. "Eavesdropping, isn't it? You've always been too curious for your own good."

"It looks like Kanzas is down there," she answered, frowning a little. "Talking to someone, I think. Oh - it's that man from this morning, that clansman from the arena."

The half-mermaid pulled up to her knees, looking over the woman's shoulder before dropping back down into bed again. "Him, he keeps staring at me," she said, curling her lip. "I saw it during the ceremony, too. It's not like my master used to do," Damia went on, shuddering a little, "but I don't like it anyway. It's my stupid hair…"

"Next time, tell him to stop," Rose advised her, curling onto her side. "You don't have to put up with that anymore. Shirley-"

"Just a minute," she shushed, cracking the shutters a little bit more. What was Kanzas doing out now, anyway, with the attack at dawn? _The innkeeper will lock the door soon, and then what? Really, does he _want_ to sleep in a doorway, on the roof…?_

Donar, shrugging, said, "Well, I was going to say that you don't strike me as the kind who freely serves anyone. Getting the dragon back I can understand, but now you're a Dragon Knight-"

He snorted, boots crunching down drifts of snow that had fallen onto the mostly-cleared streets. "Is there something wrong with that? What _I'd_ like to know is why you're hanging around me just because we fought together in the arena."

"I have a debt to you," he answered seriously. "I couldn't have escaped that place alive if you and the others hadn't made your own escape, and I can't just ignore that."

"I understand debts," Kanzas returned with sudden insight, waving his hand dismissively, "but I'm not going to hold you to anything. I didn't care if I freed you then, and I don't care now. You're free. Congratulations. Have a good life."

Donar held out his arm to stop him from leaving, his voice suddenly stern. "Even so. Look, Kanzas, I don't have a company of men to bring to this army. There's three left in my clan fit to fight, and the rest just scared women and children. Children…" He shook his head hard, continuing, "Clan Serdio is dead. You were my leader in the arena, and I'll follow you now."

Taken aback, he retorted rather angrily, "I'm nobody's leader anymore. I stayed out of it, as you should know. You were the one those pathetic men looked to-"

"Before they looked to you," Donar finished for him, the wind whipping his hair around wildly. "And you, of course, didn't care either. I saw what you did to the old boss when he kept lording it over you. What someone does in a place like the arena shows what they're really made of, and I've got no use for weaklings."

"Then join the Winglies," Kanzas spat, turning his back once more and stepping away, "if you want to be sure of winning. All you'll find here are ten thousand crazy men who are going to be sent to Mayfil."

Donar shook his head, grabbing hold of his forearm. "But you're here despite that, and, even if you're crazy, I think you know which way the storm will move. I've got thunder affinity too, you know. Let me help you. I've got to repay you somehow."

Kanzas knocked his hand from his arm, a scowl etched deeply on his face. "You said that already, I think. And I told you once before - I don't need you, and I don't accept your debt to me. Just leave me alone."

"So why are you here?" Donar demanded crossly, clouds of his breath swirling around his face. "If you don't believe we'll win this war, why are you even here?"

"I am here," he answered without turning around, "because someone asked me that same question." That short hallway beneath the arena… it seemed like an age had passed since then. "I'm here because Shirley wants me to be."

Donar made a scoffing noise at that, though he looked a bit abashed afterward. "I don't think I believe that. You're not just a soldier, but a Dragon Knight, and just because of that woman…?"

_Oh, Kanzas, that can't be true, _Shirley thought at the same time, trying to ignore the looks that Rose and Damia were giving her. She felt a little surprised that the promise they'd made meant so much to him, although part of her wasn't surprised at all.

"Sure, okay," the Dragoon sighed, as if finally worn down by the questioning, "I'm not gonna say I don't like the thought of destroying the Winglies." He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. "But I should be doing it on my own. I… I'm not some… some knight or anything… I'm - you're _really_ pissing me off!" Suddenly narrowing his eyes, as if he'd just had a thought, he clenched his fists, drawing back his arm as he began to turn.

Her chest tightening with an odd kind of fear, Shirley jolted forward, pushing out the shutters with both hands as if she'd suddenly wanted some fresh air. She breathed a sigh of relief as Kanzas froze in mid-spin, leaning out of the window with her hands braced on the sill. Her red hair flying around her face in the cold wind, she called down brightly, "Kanzas? Why are you still up?"

The angry frown he gave her nearly scared her; he stared at her with an inscrutable gaze, as if searching for something, but finally he just looked back over his shoulder at Donar, snapping, "Go away."

"All right, all right," the guardsman sighed, holding up his hands in surrender before turning to go.

Kanzas watched for a moment before turning back to the window, but the thin smile on his face now was little better than the frown. _I don't call that a coincidence… she was watching and thought I wanted to kill him, is that it?_ "What is it now?" he shouted.

"Go to bed, Kanzas," she hissed back down, motioning him to be quieter. "Even you will need sleep for tomorrow." Hesitating a moment, she finally added, "No one's going to kill you here."

He looked up at her, sighing, and then his smile changed. Before Shirley could react, he made a quick running jump onto the frozen-over rain barrel, raising him up enough that he could grab hold of the edge of the roof. Swinging himself neatly up onto the shingles, he walked up the roof's little incline and leaned forward onto the windowsill, giving the other two a brief glance and a smirk.

"What are you…?" she stammered out, leaning backward, her fingers clenched tightly on the splintery wood of the sill. Damia muffled an exclamation, pulling the covers higher over her, and in the darkness behind them, Rose glowered angrily.

"No one will kill me? I don't know," he told her softly. "I think Belzac might just try." Her gentle brown eyes flew wide, and he shook his head in amusement, leaning forward further. She froze in place, her heart racing, and then his lips brushed her forehead before he pulled away. "Anyway, goodnight," Kanzas finished, laughing at her stunned expression before standing back and crossing the roof toward his own window.

A moment passed before Rose murmured warningly, "Shirley…"

It was obvious what she meant; this was not a good time for the Dragoons to be against each other, and she was well aware that she was in the midst of just that kind of strife. She reached out to pull the shutters in and latch them closed, her hair immediately falling from the sudden lack of wind; that spot on her forehead burned in the cold air. Letting out a breath, she sat back on her knees and answered slowly, "I know… I know."

* * *

The sound of feet pounding resounded outside the tent before the flap was clumsily unsealed and flung open. "Commander! _Commander_!" 

Startled awake, the Wingly man thrashed into an upright position on his bunk, blinking at the young sentry, clad in dark brown armor, standing before him in the doorway. The gray, dim light of dawn filled the sky that could be seen there. "What is it, soldier?" he managed to get out, unconsciously running his fingers through the platinum waves of his hair and trying to look a little more composed.

"Dragons, sir!" he returned quickly, pointing at the pale pink clouds tinted by the rising sun as his commander jumped out of bed to join him at the doorway. "The scouts have reported seven dragons several miles away, surrounding camp and closing in on us, sir, from all points but south!"

It wasn't wise to underestimate the power of dragons, but that thought wasn't making his throat constrict and his mouth dry up. Dragons were very territorial and generally couldn't stand each other. One of them approaching might have made sense, but seven? Garnet-colored eyes widened, and he demanded, "Humans - are there Humans with them?"

"Humans, sir?" the soldier asked, confused. "Humans _with_ the dragons, sir?"

The officer didn't answer, frozen in mid-motion, staring upward at the sky like a statue. Leki Bardel had been commander of this branch of the Wingly army for just a week now, appointed after his predecessor, Arturo, had been killed by some Human gladiator during an uprising in Kadessa. One week, and he was already facing the threat he'd been warned about - there was no other explanation for this.

He had been informed of his new post before he'd been summoned to the capital to meet with Melbu Frahma. Leki, the eldest son of little-known, unimportant lineage, had been sub-commander of the Watch in Zenebatos, and his sudden promotion had his entire family in shock at their new social status. His sister had fainted at the thought of the parties she would now be able to attend, and his father, the old codger, had almost been in tears.

Commander of the army that kept the peace in the Southlands, quelling rebellions and ensuring Wingly safety - he could barely believe it was true. But he hadn't felt at all like a commander as he'd entered the great halls of the Palace of the Winglies, led by a submissive slave into the drawing room where Frahma sat waiting for him. He'd not been able to keep back a shudder, either, as he looked upon his lord, at the strange stone-gray skin and piercing blue-green eyes, thinking how unlike a Wingly this most powerful man actually was.

And Leki remembered now what Melbu Frahma had told him, speaking in those soft, controlled tones of a rebellion of Humans as calmly as he might speak of the afternoon tea. "There is now an unholy union between the apes and the dragons," he'd said to the kneeling officer before him. "And, before long, you too will have to face the Dragoons - the atrocities that were created by this vile alliance."

"May I ask what I can expect, my lord, if we should face these… Dragoons?" was all he could think of to ask in return, utter nervousness gripping at his insides. There were so many stories about what Melbu Frahma would do if he felt displeased, and, though he was ashamed of it, he was afraid to demand an explanation of this horrible news.

"Commander Leki," Frahma had answered in a tone that brooked no argument, "you can expect to win." Raising a hand, the dictator made a slight motion with his fingers, tracing a complicated symbol; a moment later, a round amulet the size of his palm fell into his open hand, and he bent down only slightly to hand it to the commander at his feet. "With this," he began…

Shaking his head, the Wingly snapped out of his memory, turning quickly back into his tent and flinging open the lid of the metallic box at the end of his bunk. Paying no attention to the baffled sentry behind him, Leki lifted out the amulet Frahma had given him, holding it up in front of his face. It was a chalky white color, the dark black lines engraved in its surface surrounding a smooth, round leaf-green gemstone. With this…

Leaping to his feet, the commander turned to the soldier, kind eyes growing suddenly hard. "Everyone out and ready, right now!" he shouted, making the other man jump. "Battle formations and in the air, ready to meet the attack, now! Go!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

As he flew quickly to follow the order, Commander Leki briefly clutched the amulet to his chest before reaching for his armor, the sounds of shouting voices rising from outside the tent. One week. One week with this army under his command, and now he had to face an attack of the kind the Winglies had never seen. Seven dragons and seven Humans, against an army…! If Frahma hadn't warned him that these - these _Dragoons_ even existed, he knew he would have laughed and sent that soldier away.

Hastily dressed now, he jammed his helmet onto his head, grabbed his six-foot glaive, and tore outside, face angled to see above the surrounding treetops with apprehension he knew he should have controlled. It was impossible to miss, even in this bad light - from almost every separate direction a dark shape was streaking toward the valley, sparks of magical energy trailing from large translucent wings. As they closed in, the officer could clearly see smaller shapes flying alongside each dragon.

Humans. They were winged Humans.

"Archangel, protect us!" Leki breathed, his own gossamer energy wings shooting from his back, extending out from beneath dark-brown pieces of his elaborate armor. The amulet swinging wildly around his neck, his weapon in hand, he tore toward the front of his own company, shouting orders as he went, all the while fearing the unknown future at hand. What was coming for them? How powerful could seven Humans and dragons _be_ against five thousand Wingly soldiers?

There were no words exchanged, no attempt to parley. The attackers swooped down on the encampment without a pause; a green glow flared around the form of the Jade Dragon, and, as they'd been trained to do, the first line of defenders went to meet it, shield spells prepared to deflect the dragon magic while the second rank began tracing the sigils for earth spells.

However, they had not counted on the other six dragons, each unleashing their power onto the army they were effectively surrounding. One by one, the powers of the seven elements crashed together, tearing like shockwaves through the Winglies, wind and earth, fire and water, light and darkness and electricity colliding with the small figures, many of whom were not at all prepared for a hit.

The neat formations broke apart in the confusion, horror descending on the survivors as the mangled bodies of soldiers began dropping to the ground. Commander Leki, protected but immobile within the orb of his shield, stared in complete shock. This was not how dragons behaved! It went against everything he'd been taught in training - there was no way seven of them could have chosen to cast their magic at the very same time! No way - except-

Leki gasped, dropping his shield and spinning in the air, shouting in a futile attempt to restore order to what was left of his army. The 'unholy union' Melbu Frahma had spoken of… the Humans were controlling the dragons…

* * *

And those Humans were moving now, their Dragoon armors bright flashes of color as they whipped forward into the chaos the dragons had left for them. 

Damia, however, hung back alongside her vassal dragon - which she'd called Stephen - as he flew into the fray, her entire body trembling. They'd all been warned to try to keep in Dragoon form as long as possible, for if they were to attack at all it would be necessary to recharge their spirit energy on the ground. She flew hesitantly as the noise of magic exploded all around her, as even Stephen ignored her uncertain mental entreaties and aimed his magic wherever he pleased.

She watched as, summoned by the blue and gold creature, a gigantic wave of water roared up from some point on the ground far below, gathering itself up before crashing into a group of Winglies. Shimmering ice crystals crawled their way up the wave as the swell began to flatten, entombing the soldiers in frozen water before shattering and sending yet more bodies to litter the valley floor.

At first she'd thought she'd be perfectly content to haunt her vassal dragon's movements, but Damia found herself feeling guilty that she wasn't doing more to help the others. It was just that she could barely force herself to do more than hover in the air, her hammer clutched tightly in small blue-gauntleted hands. All around her people were dying, and she was so scared, and yet she felt something else inside; it was almost as though it was moving, a coil of energy in her chest slithering ever so slowly around itself…

The half-mermaid let out a scream as a Wingly soldier suddenly streaked toward her, his sword back in a desperate attack. Not even thinking about it, she raised her free hand, the magic in her veins reacting immediately as a blanket of snowflakes descended on the man, a biting wind sweeping through him. She stared in shock as he looked back at her for a moment, his face and hair frosted white - it was even on his _eyelashes_, she noted crazily, just before his wings dissipated and he plummeted; dead or unconscious, she didn't know.

It was then that Damia realized Stephen had gone on without her, leaving her flying alone, just above the turmoil, in plain view. She adjusted her grip on her hammer and closed her eyes, prepared to simply plunge wildly toward the ground waiting below, until suddenly an arm slid around her waist, someone ducking in between her wings and jerking her upward before flying back down in a dizzying loop through clouds of smoke. "Let go!" she screeched, struggling wildly, the oversized hammer whipping back over her head.

"Careful!" a voice admonished, and she immediately went still at the sound of Syuveil's accent in her ear. She could barely hear it over the sounds of the wind whipping past them, the blasts of magic and screams of pain, but he went on breathlessly, "Shirley… told us… to look after you!"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do!" she cried back, hoping he wouldn't point out that it was obvious: she was supposed to be killing Winglies.

Instead, however, he only nodded, his wings flaring as he pulled her to a quick stop. "Cast your spell now," he told her, eyes flicking to follow the movements of the soldiers above, who at the moment were more concerned with the dragons than them. "While we're down low!"

Though still feeling as if she was frozen inside, the want to impress Syuveil won out over the rest of her emotions. Unsure of how to call upon the Dragoon magic, she raised her large mallet hesitantly, and then instinct took over and everything became clear. It was not time for thinking anymore!

Not wanting to catch him in the spell, Damia suddenly flew in front of the scholar, beginning a wide twirl. Chunks of ice formed in the air as the weapon whipped past, gathering around her in a circle-shape, and then she raised her hand, her ruby-eyed gaze catching on a small cluster of Winglies nearby. "Freezing Ring!" Gesturing, she sent the ice around her hurtling toward the soldiers, surrounding them with it moments before the frozen chunks drove in on them.

"Wing Blaster!"

She was barely able to react to what she'd done before realizing Syuveil was also moving, covered in a green wing-like glow and tearing toward the brown-armored men. The rest of her thoughts fled a moment later as she felt the energy of her spirit dropping, warning her that she was going to return to normal - and everything in her did _not_ want to fall like that again.

Gasping, she started flying toward the ground, not quite there before her body was covered in a bright blue-white glow. Squeezing her eyes closed, Damia bit her lip against a cry, and then nearly bit through it as Syuveil caught her wrist, hurting her arm but, more importantly, keeping her from hitting the ground.

He stared at her in relief, for a moment only able to wish that he'd been able to catch Shynn like that, before feeling his own armor shimmering away…

* * *

Nearly on the other side of the valley, Kanzas flew alongside Taranis, keeping pace with the violet vassal dragon's frantic speed. The idea behind this battle had been to let the dragons handle most of it, with the Dragoons mentally guiding them. _Of course, _he thought to himself, _what's the fun in that?_

A grin spreading across his angular features, he left Taranis with a quick _You know what to do, _and swooped down toward the first brown-armored soldier he saw, his fists clenched, the long curved single blade jutting out from the back of his hand and glittering in the light of the magic flares blooming all around them.

The man hurried to block the attack with the flat of his sword, but Kanzas kicked back and upward again, a glow brightening around his fingers as he flipped back down to slam his heels against the Wingly's shoulders. He was forced to dodge away from the blade as the soldier whipped it in a sweep toward him, but ducking back upward he rammed the claw blade into the man's eye, tearing it back out with a laugh as blood gushed, energy wings flickered, and his opponent fell.

It was like rain; he didn't know when he'd last seen such a beautiful sight, the Winglies falling like rain as the rocks below slammed upward, spraying the air with debris as the dragon magic from above crashed down into the valley. He could only hang there and stare, watching it as though it wasn't actually happening in the deadly reality all around him.

However, he was broken from his reverie by the sudden yanking feeling of the power draining away from his Dragoon Spirit, and he immediately shot upward, focusing his thoughts on Taranis. With a bright flash of light, the wings and armor vanished, and his stomach felt like it was still going in the other direction as he began a freefall toward the exploding ground.

A streak of purple beneath him stopped his descent, his fingertips just barely catching on the edge of the dragon's collar, the huge chain whipping along right next to him. Adrenaline energy pounding through him, he let out a whoop of excitement as Taranis corkscrewed down toward the ground, the edges of Wingly spells sparking against their sides like tiny bites.

Kanzas let go and swung down toward the corpse-littered field as his dragon began to lunge back upward, roaring out a challenge as he headed toward the nearest group of Winglies. There was a crunching sound as he landed hard on one of the bodies, and as he rolled to his feet, his eyes flicked around for a glimpse of any still alive.

Seeing movement, he charged that in that direction, caught in a strange, almost euphoric feeling. As he descended upon the wounded soldiers with quick, efficient swipes of his blade, he suddenly felt like laughing until he couldn't breathe.

Killing like this, of course, was the only way the Dragoons would be able to return to the air, as it was unlikely any of their enemies would come down to fight them hand-to-hand, assuming they even bothered to notice the Human figures at all. The plan had been to never de-transform, but as he scanned the area Kanzas saw that he was not the only one who'd already used up his power.

Shirley stood not far away, bow bent in her hand and an arrow drawn back on the string; spatters of blood covered her white clothing and armored vest, matching the brightness of her hair in the dawn light. With utter calmness, she let her dart fly at the Wingly struggling up to his feet before her. He was thrown back with a sudden choking cry, the wooden shaft embedded between neck and shoulder, gasping as he raised his hands to cast a spell at her. Wind whipped up around them, throwing rock dust into the air, but she had already yanked another arrow from her quiver, aimed and shot again.

The arrow drove deep into his neck, and the man collapsed into a heap. She walked over to tug the arrows from his body, wiping them absently on the side of her pants. When the White-Silver Dragoon glanced up at him, a quirk of a smile on her face, Kanzas couldn't help but stare back, the crushed throat of a Wingly sliding from his fingers. That look in her eyes, the strange cruel light in them, seemed so familiar that he was almost scared when he realized it was because he'd seen it before on his own reflection.

She seemed to become conscious of something when she looked at him, too, because the odd confidence and the wild glow faded like a dying spark, replaced by a look of vague shock as the color drained from her skin. "Kanzas?" she asked, frowning, before looking around in confusion and then staring up at the flashes of magic above. "We weren't… supposed to use up our energy…"

"Turn around!" he bellowed back, and she spun in time to clumsily evade the blade that slashed downward at her, stumbling over the body at her feet and staggering back up to face the battered soldier who'd attacked her, unbalanced as she grabbed for the dagger at her belt.

Too far away, he bent to grab for a rock - why in the _hell_ was it hovering off the ground? - and threw it hard at the Wingly. It clipped the back of his head, sending him pitching forward, and Shirley drove the dagger down hard into the back of the soldier's neck, leaving it there as he fell.

As he pushed his way over to her, Kanzas could see her shaking and reached out to take hold of her arm, squeezing it tightly until she flinched in pain. He knew he'd gathered enough energy to fill his Dragoon Spirit again, though for some reason it had taken longer than it usually did, and so he spat, "I'm going back! You transform too!"

Trying to force her breath to steady, Shirley gave him a pleading look before glancing back at the sky. No, he was right; she needed to get back up there, to tell Eremi where to aim like she was supposed to be doing. Several of the dragons seemed to be attacking randomly now, no longer being guided, and she hoped the others were all right.

"Yes," she answered finally, making herself ignore the stench of burnt flesh and blood and the moans of the dying Winglies around them. Almost at once they both called upon their spirits, illuminating the rubble as their Dragoon armor formed around their bodies, light and lightning mingling to propel them into the sky.

The number of Winglies had decreased considerably, even in the short time she'd been on the ground. Only a few knots of resistance were left, the soldiers protected by shield spheres that left them unharmed but immobile. Rose and Zieg were surrounding a group of these not far away, close to the buckling ground. It wouldn't be long before their wills gave out and their shields fell, and the tension was high as both sides waited for this to happen.

Kanzas suddenly grabbed Shirley's wrist, dragging her through the air until she had the presence of mind to flare her wings and slow him down. "This isn't the time for games!" she shouted as he finally let her go at quite a higher altitude than they'd been before.

"What games?" he answered back lightly, turning slowly to survey the battlefield. "We're gonna attack! Get ready to cast that star spell of yours, back to mine!"

"You can't!" she retorted, gasping as he turned to face in the other direction; she could almost feel his wings surrounding her own, beating steadily in perfect time. A stream of bluish light shot past them, freezing-cold as it nicked against her cheek, and she flinched, seeing a Wingly tracing a sigil and aiming upward once more. "If you cast anything, you'll fall again!"

He laughed, shaking his head, and she could see a vague electrical flicker from his hand as he continued, "Just do it - ready - ready - and _now_!"

Worried and annoyed, she grudgingly lifted her bow above her head, the droplets of light beginning to shimmer downward. Behind her, Kanzas flicked his hand into the air, sending sparks flying from his fingers, the electricity of it making her hair briefly float up fanlike around her face.

"Star Children!" Shirley cried as she drew down her hands, watching in fascinated horror as the bright multicolored hiss of her power flared up through the Winglies in a near semicircle below. Completing it on the other side was another bright light, bolts of lightning crackling in the space and spraying rocks free as the other Dragoon finished his own spell.

She flew in a spin to face him when the glow had died, demanding irately, "You have another spell already?" As far as they'd been able to tell, the Dragoon Spirits grew in power when they'd absorbed enough life energy, and she didn't even want to contemplate how much it actually took, or how he'd gotten it all.

"You think I was just sitting around in that arena for a week?" Kanzas snapped when he saw the look on her face, giving her a scowl from under the spiked violet headpiece that shaded his eyes. "C'mon, I'm not going to lose the armor yet, so let's-"

"Explosion!" As the Winglies he'd been facing were starting to lose their shields, Zieg had dived down and driven his sword into the ground; a long snake of fire stretched out along the devastated valley floor before rumbling up with a dome of flame, catching the soldiers in its blast. One, however, obviously an officer, in more elaborate armor and bearing a large glaive, shot upward through the flickering remains of the fire even as his men fell below.

Flying in a wide, spinning arc, he made a feint toward the Red-Eye Dragoon, which Zieg was almost able to dodge. However, the wide blade of the glaive carved a deep cut through his bicep, tearing a chunk of muscle from his left arm. Rose shouted in outrage, an indigo glow alighting around her form, and Shirley called his name in worry, leaving Kanzas and moving downward immediately to help.

With a growling cry of pain, Zieg dropped to the ground as his armor shimmered away, letting his sword fall as he grabbed at the wound to try to staunch the blood. A moment later he was out of sight as flying rocks collided in midair, showering the area with fragments. Forced to twist away to avoid being hit by the stones, Shirley tried desperately to gain sight of him again.

Drawing back, her expression dark with anger, Rose hurled her sword at the Wingly officer who'd attacked her fiancé, crying, "Astral Drain!" It lodged into his midsection, throwing him back, and as she flew higher into the air its hilt began to glow with a pulsing red light, drawing itself back out as the commander stared down at himself in shock.

The red light gathered itself up and shot in a beam toward her, hitting her squarely in the chest, and she pulled up into a ball for a moment, letting out a shriek of pain before the energy shot from her down toward the ground, a bluish-yellow color now. It surrounded Zieg, who was kneeling and trying to cover his head from flying rocks; he looked up defensively, and Rose immediately descended to land on the ground next to him, the sword returning to her open hand as she reached up for it.

Watching, Shirley saw that the energy had healed Zieg somewhat, sealing the cut on his arm, and she felt relieved, though she was somewhat troubled by the way Rose's spell had done it, not to mention the pain it had caused her to use. _She was able to injure that officer and take his blood, his life, to heal Zieg? _She looked toward the ashen-faced man and amended the thought, as he was not dead, but definitely stunned, the rent in his armor leaking streamers of blood that seemed to hang in the air.

Before she could do anything about it, however, the Wingly broke out of his shock and dropped his glaive, reaching for something that was hanging around his neck. She didn't know what it was, but as the platinum-haired man's body suddenly arched back, a ragged cry tearing from his throat as the amulet suddenly flared with a bright green and white glow, she knew that it was not good at all…

* * *

Belzac, on the ground for the moment, was not far away, but his search for living Winglies was not going quite as well. The attacks that had taken place here had been more deadly than others, and he hadn't been able to recharge his Dragoon Spirit. It was getting more and more dangerous to stay below, though - he could feel the pained shudder of the earth beneath him even through the soles of his boots. Every so often the ground would buckle and crack, the magical pressure sending rock flying into the air and, very rarely, back down again. 

There was nothing left in what had once been a cleared, tree-edged valley, not even the wounded soldiers he was seeking. His large axe held high to deflect any of the airborne debris that shot in his direction, he made his way over the rubble, checking all the brown-armored bodies he could find for signs of remaining life to steal away.

Though he felt ill if he thought long about what he was doing, the half-Giganto also knew that there was no time to regret or to hold back, not if he wanted to live. Even so, 'it's us or them' was cold comfort when he was faced with such carnage as this.

"Haaa-!"

The sound of Damia's cry made him straighten and look around suddenly, worried, and upon hearing another scream he hurried toward its source. However, when he came over the rise Belzac could only stand there, his jaw dropping in shock. _What's she-?_

Even as he watched, the girl drew back her hammer and swung it forward with the force of her entire body, slamming it into the head of a soldier struggling up to his knees and crushing in the side of his skull. Though she stood straight again and calmly rested the haft of the hammer on her shoulder, hand on her hip as she looked down at the fallen Wingly, her face was deadly white and her eyes were huge, the ruby irises contracted to pinpoints.

"Damia!" Belzac shouted, sliding down the pile of stones and beginning to run toward her. When she heard him, she turned to him sharply, staring almost as if she didn't recognize him. Before he got much closer, however, a wave of water rose up in front of her, freezing and shattering to reveal her Dragoon form, and with a strong flap of wings she'd shot into the air without a word.

Cursing to himself, he looked around wildly for something, anything that could give him the last bit of spirit energy he needed to transform and go after her, but there was only death here the same as before. He looked up toward the early-morning sky, searching for Damia, but instead of finding her he witnessed instead as Zieg was wounded by the Wingly officer and went down, as Rose tried to heal him and then lost her own armor, and then-

The pale greenish glow coming from the Wingly man the others had been fighting almost blinded him, even down here on the ground. Belzac, moving into a defensive position, watched to see what would happen, but there was nothing - nothing until a huge, dragon-sized creature seemed to drop from the sky, landing with an earth-shaking thud not far from him and knocking him off his feet. As the rumbling died, an unnatural hush fell over the battlefield; even the remaining Winglies were still and unsure.

Pulling up to his knees, the Golden Dragoon stared upward in awe at the thing that had been summoned. It loomed hugely above him, its hide a pale gray color; what looked like a large, irregular green gem filled its midsection. The large crested thing on top had to be its head, because it had limbs, but he couldn't even tell if it was facing him or not.

Overall, this creature gave him a bad feeling, which only grew when he saw the dragons' reaction to it. There was definite hostility emanating from them, but his own vassal dragon, Gleam, was projecting feelings of fear as well that Belzac didn't quite understand. What would a _dragon_ be afraid of?

Above him, he heard a sudden low hiss, staggering to his feet just as Gleam flew past above him, roaring as he charged the strange creature. It lumbered to face the young golden dragon, raising a clawed hand to swipe at it; Belzac winced as the fingers scraped along Gleam's side, making a high-pitched squealing noise against the scales. The others were holding their dragons back, he saw, and though he tried to call his away, he was being quite firmly ignored.

_Damn it, _he snapped mentally. His vassal dragon was much too stubborn for his own good. Not being very fast, he wasn't dodging the strikes; one hit sent him tumbling through the air, shimmering dust spilling from his wings as he righted himself and charged again with an affronted roar. _Damn it, Gleam, get away from that thing! _

Another snarl echoed through the sky as Taranis suddenly descended on the creature, thrashing his spiked head against the thing's broad crest. Whatever it was made no noise in response, but a vague reddish light grew from its forehead, and with a sudden explosion the violet dragon was thrown back as well. Making a sound almost like a shriek, Kanzas' dragon twisted back again, mouth open wide and teeth bared.

The two dragons kept flying at the thing, their huge bodies twisting to avoid the long fingers their enemy swiped toward them. Taranis reared back, a thick bolt of lightning streaming from his throat, and though it crashed headlong into the huge creature, it did little more than force it to stagger backward. Gleam, touching down to the ground briefly, tried to create a crater to suck the thing beneath, but as the depression grew their opponent merely kicked up off the ground, breaking free of the pressure.

Gleam's rage pounded into his head, and Belzac winced slightly at the strength of the dragon's emotion, thin brows pulled into a deep frown. _I know you don't like it, _he thought back, _but you're not affecting it at all- _

The creature struck again, fingertips raking along the side of his vassal dragon's neck. The sense of pain and anger he received back across their mental link hit with all the force of a blow, accompanied by a strange burning from the pocket inside his vest where his Dragoon Spirit rested. Without thinking, he reached to pull it free, clenching his hand tightly around the small orb despite the heat coming from it.

Staring up through the rocks at the thing, his eyes wide, Belzac suddenly started forward at a run, leaping over bodies and then finally stepping on them as he aimed toward a large chunk of earth that some spell had torn free. As he put his weight on the stone, it shuddered and began to rise upward, and he gasped and flailed his arms to keep his balance.

_What can I do like this? I'm not even transformed!_ half his mind was demanding of him, but the rest of him kept moving, propelling him up onto another rock that hung in the air. His fingers ached from the heat of his spirit, but he could no more let go of it than make himself stop breathing. Now he was nearly level with the gray-hided creature, and close enough that he could feel the wind of the two dragons' wakes against him as they rushed past it, their roars echoing.

Slowly, an almost stunned expression on his face, Belzac raised the hand with the orb above his head, feeling the burn of it increase as golden rays of light suddenly spilled from between his fingers. There was a drawing feeling inside him, just like the sensation he got when his spirit absorbed life energy from his attacks, but it was stronger, so much stronger that he felt himself swaying and had to fight to stay upright. Gleam halted his flight, the stocky dragon hovering in midair, his short wings quivering and spraying brightly-colored sparks.

It hurt now, his fist above his head trembling although his fingers refused to unclench, and the ground below began to shake as if in resonance, a great rumbling filling the air. The creature slowly turned as if to search out the source of the power, its odd eyes extending on stalks; somewhere behind him, Rose finally retransformed and dragged Zieg up into the air as the earthquakes knocked her fiancé off his feet. Everyone left in the sky was staring at him now, wondering what was happening, what he was doing.

Belzac let out a scream, the glow brightening as the ground trembled and seemed to gather like a wave, and a moment later Gleam roared loudly, flinging back his small head. The grayish creature moved to open its wings and lift off the ground, but the earth continued to rise upward, trees and rocks and the bodies of Winglies gathering together in a gigantic wave.

He watched as it reached its pinnacle and suddenly surged forward, the wave of earth bowling over first the creature, and then Taranis and Gleam. A moment later, as he could only stand there and stare with stray rocks tearing cuts into his skin, it crashed into him too.

Trees cracked and snapped under the force of the dirt and rocks burying them, the wave flattening out and spreading as if it was truly water, and when it had settled there was nothing left on the valley floor but a new layer of ground. Massive chunks of earth that had been torn from their resting places had been flung into the air and for some reason weren't falling, colliding with each other and spinning wildly away.

"Oh my god!" Zieg choked out, clutching onto Rose's large shoulderplates as she held him up off the ground. Damia wailed in grief from somewhere nearby, her small form curled inward as she hovered there, and Syuveil hid his mouth behind his hand, an expression of disbelief on his face.

"Belzac!" Shirley shrieked in horror, staring at the stone-dotted plain where her friend, the creature and two dragons had just been. "_Belzac_!"

She made a move to go forward, but Zieg flung his good hand out and caught her wrist, trying to stop her. He grimaced as the force of it nearly tore him from Rose's grip, but he held on tightly, his arm stretched as far as it would go. The Darkness Dragoon struggled to hold onto him in turn, her teeth clenched. "Shirley!" he gritted out, trying to hang on to the shiny armor.

She twisted toward them, a frightening look of pain and anger on her face, and hissed, "Let go of me-!"

"It's too dangerous with those rocks flying around!" he cried back, but Shirley only turned her wrist and yanked her hand away, breathing hysterically fast. However, she didn't get much farther before Syuveil this time grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides.

"Let me go!" she screamed, kicking and struggling to break free, tears streaming down her face. Her mind flew to Eremi, and she thought, _Go in there, find him- _"Belzac, oh Soa, let me go! I have to get him out of there! Belzac! Oh god, Belzac!"

Syuveil shifted his grip as Eremi shot past them, a glow gathering at the middle of the white-silver dragon's chest, and gasped, "Shirley, don't - if he's still alive - if he's there, blasting it would only-"

Immediately, she called for the dragon to halt, desperation clawing at her heart. "No," she wailed, "it's not true, it's not true!"

A streak of purple went by instead as Kanzas suddenly approached the field, his eyes wild. "Taranis!" he shouted, drawing to a stop above the place where his vassal dragon had last been, barely seeming to notice the mass of swirling rocks that were beginning to ricochet off his armor. "You stupid, stupid Giganto, you _buried_ my dragon! Taranis!"

He reached up to grab handfuls of his own hair, tugging on it and shaking his head frantically. Dark clouds began to gather in the bright morning sky above him, within minutes rumbling with the promise of a storm. The Violet Dragoon, however, didn't seem to notice, continuing to shout toward the remains of the landslide below. Only when bolts of lightning struck down not far from him did he look up again, staring around in confusion before jerking back out of the path of a stray boulder.

The others slowly descended, touching down on top of a high outcropping of rock that had made it through the upheaval mostly unscathed. "What is he doing?" Rose snapped as she let Zieg down, though her face betrayed the anguish she was feeling. "What is going on?" she demanded over a roll of thunder. "I want to know what's happened here!"

The sky opened as though split, and a heavy rain poured down on them. "What happened? What happened?" Kanzas bellowed a moment later, descending on the Darkness Dragoon and coming only inches within grabbing for her throat before Zieg's shout and Damia's outcry made him pull back. He raised his fists as Rose's glare seemed to pass through him and went on, "Belzac tried some spell and _screwed up_, that's what happened-"

However, he cut himself off, his fingers relaxing and his breath suddenly catching in his chest as he felt a presence through the link of his Dragoon Spirit, felt fear and anger but it was definitely alive-

He didn't have time for another thought as the earth began to churn below, suddenly fountaining upward in a dusty, pebble-filled spray. A figure glowing a bright gold color exploded from the ground; as it spun to a halt in midair, white refractive wings caught the light of the storm, extending lazily outward as he touched down on a large hovering piece of rock.

The hissing corona of energy faded away on the wind, and Belzac tilted his face toward the sky, rain pattering on his tanned skin as he blinked in confusion. "Why… is it raining?"

A moment later he heard a gasp and felt something collide hard with his chest. He looked down, startled, as Shirley leapt toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck with a cry of joy. "Belzac, oh - I thought you were - I'm so relieved," she got out as he hugged her tightly; they were surrounded by a quick, sharp burst of light as her Dragoon armor faded away.

He pressed his face into her hair, closing his eyes briefly as he reassured her, "I'm all right, really…"

A moment later Damia flew toward them, returning to normal almost before her foot touched the stone. "Belzac!" Whatever had taken hold of her earlier had gone, apparently, much to his relief.

She flung her arms around his waist, sobbing, and he pulled her into his embrace as well with a soft laugh, glancing once over his shoulder as he heard Gleam pull himself free of the earth, snapping his wings open with a loud crack. "It's okay now," he told her as he smoothed down her hair, narrowing his eyes slightly as he stared across the valley, rainwater running in rivulets down his face. "It looks like everything's all over."

"Yes, it…" Shirley answered, raising her head to look around as well. The wave of earth had buried the bodies that had littered the valley floor, as well as all the tents and equipment of the formerly tree-lined Wingly encampment, leaving only the strange floating rocks and the misty haze of leftover magic to fill the space. "It certainly is."

A dragon's roar broke the stillness as Taranis worked himself free as well and soared into the air, Kanzas immediately flying to his side as soon as he'd come up, though he landed instead of following, letting his armor go. As the other six looked on, rays of sun pierced through the storm clouds, dissipating the rain almost at once.

Taranis dived back down from the sky, nearly bowling the Thunder Dragoon over and leaving long furrows as he landed. Straightening again, Kanzas stared up at him silently, and finally Taranis lowered his head, resting it heavily on the Human's shoulder.

"That dragon has no dignity whatsoever," Rose sighed, sounding close behind, and Belzac glanced back to see that the rock they were standing on had drifted over toward the ledge where the others were.

It took only a short jump to join them, but no one spoke for a while as they stared across the remains of the battlefield, the morning sun catching on the multicolored magic shimmer in the air. The dragons had come down to the ground, the rocks not enough to bother them, and were resting themselves, basking in the warmth.

Finally, Zieg asked, "We're glad you're all right, and that that strange thing's gone, but what was it that you _did_ just then, Belzac? That wasn't… just a spell."

"He wasn't even transformed," Shirley put in, her voice still a bit strained.

He shook his head, squeezing the healer's shoulder gently as he realized that he still had his arm around her. "I'm not sure," he murmured. "It had something to do with Gleam, though - and my Dragoon Spirit."

"Of course," Syuveil blurted momentarily, "it's simple; you were drawing on your vassal dragon's power, weren't you? After all, your spirit is the soul of the Grand Dragon you fought, and the vassal is the body of that same dragon. It stands to reason that you could borrow the dragon's power to use in ways they might not be able to think of."

Rose nodded at him, reaching up to pluck at her ponytail and pulling free the thin length of cloth that held up her black hair. Wrapping it around the half-healed cut on Zieg's arm, she said, "Isn't that why they sacrificed themselves to us, so that we could guide the dragons against the Winglies using Human intelligence?"

"And that's why it rained," Damia whispered, her gaze flickering momentarily to Kanzas and Taranis below. Belzac gave her a worried look, unable to forget the way she'd acted when he'd seen her fighting, but he didn't know why that had happened, either, or how to bring it up.

Glancing up to meet her eyes, Kanzas left his vassal dragon with a pat and made a leap toward another floating rock. It fell slightly but rebounded under his weight, and using other rocks he made his way up to the rest of them quickly. "It's mixing dragon and Wingly magic that did this," he said curtly without preamble as he arrived, gesturing with his chin at their surroundings. "Just one or the other wouldn't make the rocks float."

"Oh?" Rose asked shortly, her voice even. "And how would you know about magic?"

Scowling, he snapped, "From being hit with it nearly every day for ten years! And don't _any_ of you," he went on, turning his back suddenly, "ask me more."

For a moment, the dark-haired woman's expression softened as she regarded him closely. "As you like," Rose answered quietly. Kanzas gave her a suspicious look, but otherwise didn't react.

As if breaking the tension, the Blue Sea Dragoon quickly pointed at the ground, asking, "But when are all these rocks going to fall again, do you think?"

Syuveil, frowning, bent to pick up a small stone and tossed it out toward another; when they collided, they shot off in entirely different directions, eventually coming to a slow float. "I don't know," he answered her. "It seems like it won't be for quite a while. We certainly tore it up, especially when Belzac killed that… thing."

_I'd like to know just what it was that I killed, _Belzac thought, _and whether we'll have to fight one like it again._

"Did he kill it, really?" Damia shuddered. "It was so huge and scary…"

Kanzas shrugged, rubbing his temple briefly with his fingertips. The sound of Taranis' screams in his mind was hard to forget so quickly. "I think the dragons would let us know if it was still around," he muttered, receiving slow nods from the others.

"So, what now?" Zieg asked, smiling at Rose as she finished tying the bandage before flexing his arm experimentally. "Now that we've shown the Winglies what we can do, what happens now?"

"We won't be able to do this again, you know," Shirley brought up. At their questioning looks, she clarified, "We won't be able to fight like this, power going everywhere, not if Emperor Diaz's armies are going to be supporting us. Look at what we did here - and I don't think we're as strong as we could be, yet."

Rose sighed, her pale features drawn into a frown. "Even so, I know what we'll have to do. The next step is going to come too soon, thanks to this. Next," she finished in a dark tone, "we must defeat Faust, shoot Flanvel from the sky - before Vellweb is destroyed."

* * *

Blinking slowly, Commander Leki raised his head, feeling the wind brushing against his skin. As his surroundings came into focus, he found himself being carried through the air, hanging over the shoulder of one of his soldiers. 

"Sir," the man said as he stirred, helping him upright; another came to support his other arm, holding him between them as they flew. "Commander, you're hurt, please don't move…"

"We're going to the Twin Palace, sir, to let you recover your strength," the other informed him.

In pain, the Wingly man couldn't say anything, watching the greenness of the Southlands passing quickly beneath them. There were maybe twenty soldiers left in this group - the only survivors? "Are we…" Leki began, "are we all…?"

The soldier on his left gave a tight, angry nod. "Yes, sir."

He sighed, letting his head loll forward. The amulet still hung from his neck, though the gem had gone dull, a large crack splitting it vertically. They'd defeated the creature he'd called, whatever it had been - the magic of a _Giganto_ had defeated the power Melbu Frahma had given him?

Leki winced, and then gasped as a sharp pain exploded into his head, making lights dance before his eyes. No, this pain wasn't the start of it; his lord was _not_ going to like this at all.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Author's Note: Two of the characters mentioned/introduced in this chapter are here courtesy of two kind people - Jade, who created the character of the soldier Sage for me, and Water Kokoro, who let me name Merril after one of her pennames because I kept mentally calling the character by that name. Thank you!

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Chapter Eleven

"I just need a shelf along the wall," he said, pointing briefly. "Have it connect with a… a mantel thing in this large space here, where the fire vent is. That's all I want."

"Sir, the windows will-"

What he really wanted was a room like his old one, the dugout by the river in the Southlands. There was something secure about a small, dark space - especially one that no one would dare come into without his leave. "Forget windows. Just a shelf, all around the wall. Make it look however you like."

"But-"

Ignoring the man's half-spoken protest, Kanzas folded his arms over his chest, turning to peer out at Vellweb over the quickly-growing wall of his tower. Almost directly to the south and far below, what looked like dark specks were swarming across the platform on the top of Diaz's palace, the now-obvious construction of the spear-shooter growing outward from that spot.

Since the Dragoons' near-total victory over the army in the valley, it was certain that the Winglies' retaliation was a question of 'when', not 'if', and as many of the soldiers as possible had been mobilized to finish the thing as quickly as they could. As far as he'd been told, it wouldn't be very long before it was finished, though whether it would be soon enough… none of them knew yet for sure.

Even though he could now see the shape of it, Kanzas had no idea how the emperor expected it to work. A spear that could knock a gigantic, armored flying fortress from the sky would have to be absolutely huge. What kind of power could propel the thing any distance at all? He snorted indelicately, rolling his eyes. Just wait, he thought derisively. _I bet they fire it off and it falls right onto the lower city._

Still, he couldn't feel too pessimistic about things right now. He and the others had returned to Magrad with the news of their victory, receiving stunning acclaim from the other Humans gathered there. It was as if the Dragoons had lit some kind of fire beneath them all, and he still couldn't believe the fervor and enthusiasm everyone around him suddenly had for this war, almost as if it had already been won.

The construction foreman had long since given up on talking to him and had begun directing his crew, wooden rollers squeaking as several men hauled blocks of stone up hundreds of feet in order to extend the walls. Not all of the soldiers assigned to building were able to work on the spear-shooter at once, and so some had been appointed to the task of finishing the last four towers.

Everyone in the city seemed busy, and yet Kanzas had nothing to do. He was not used to boredom, not when merely finding enough food to keep him and his bandit gang alive had occupied his time for seven years, and so he descended quickly down to the tower ring, aiming for the stairs that would eventually take him out of the upper city.

There was no quietness anymore, even up here, workers and townspeople coming and going laden with stone or wood or ironwork, voices shouting orders and requests, drifts of snow pounded into slush by the weight of carts and feet. A cold breeze blew past, ruffling his messy russet hair, and for a moment the Thunder Dragoon stopped on the wide, shallow steps curving around the wall, bracing himself against its thick rock with one hand as he fought away a wave of dizziness.

Oh, and if he stared just long enough it seemed as if all the towers and the buildings stretching toward the sky above him were swaying gently in the wind, and, so fragile, they would all topple inward on him, thousands and thousands of tons of stone crashing down onto his head…

"Excuse me… excuse me, sir?" He whipped his gaze down at the young woman who was speaking to him and suddenly had to shake his head to clear the blur from his vision. She swallowed heavily but went on, "Excuse me, but you… you're Lord Kanzas, the Dragon Knight of Thunder, aren't you? I-I remember from the procession, when you all came back…"

_What? Oh, that, _he realized, the odd feelings dissipating a little. "Yeah… I suppose that's me." Amused by her nervousness, he went on, "Forget the 'lord', though; it sounds stupid. What do you want?"

"Well, um… uh," she stammered, reaching up to twist her braid of chestnut hair in her free hand. "Please, sir, don't think me too bold, I don't mean any trouble, but…"

He merely blinked, watching almost entranced as the girl's words flew faster and faster, her face flushing a brighter red as each moment passed. And why in the world was she talking to him as though he was some… some high-up Wingly or something? Oh, wait, that was the lord thing, wasn't it?

"You see, sir," she finally said, "I really wanted to help with the war and all, but, um, there's not a lot I can do. So, my ma told me, she said we could help feed all them soldiers working on the building and I thought, well-" She suddenly thrust out her hand toward him, a small cloth-wrapped bundle hanging there. "So I made some food! For you!"

Kanzas had to force himself not to laugh, and at the moment it felt like one of the hardest things he'd ever done. There was no stopping the smile that crossed his face, however, or the snicker that escaped. As her face fell, an unfamiliar feeling of sympathy flickered through him, and he quickly cleared his throat. "Hey," he said quickly. "What's your name?"

"It's Cala, sir," she answered hesitantly, looking up at him through her lashes. Visions of a ladyship were dancing in her eyes, a world of respect and comfort that was previously unobtainable, and he could hardly fault her for that.

"Cala," he repeated, very pleased by this new diversion. Slowly, he held out his hand for the bundle, not taking his gaze off her. As she moved to give it to him, he stepped a bit closer, reaching toward her face as if to brush strands of hair from her temple. She tensed, taking a quick breath, and he brushed his lips against hers, holding them there for a moment before leaning in to murmur, "Thanks. For the food."

"You-you're welcome, sir," she stammered back, attempting to coyly twist her hair around her finger. "Er… anytime…"

And, across the crowded market square, Shirley stood very still, watching. People passed in front of her, but she didn't attempt to look around them, simply waiting until they'd gone. She'd been on her way toward the stairs, heading up to her tower, and then she'd caught sight of Kanzas coming down the same way. She had been about to wave to catch his attention, call out for him across the square like - like some…

_Like some silly girl? _her mind filled in promptly. _Like the one he's just kissed, perhaps?_

Past the inevitable hurt, there was mostly confusion. It hadn't even been three days since she'd overheard him say that he had only joined the war because of her, because of a promise they'd made. 'Don't ever leave', he'd asked her. She'd thought that had actually meant something.

But maybe he truly didn't care about her, about anything… except himself. She wanted to stalk over there, demand he explain what he meant by making her promise not to ignore him, abandon him, and then going and-

"Hey, Shirley!" Kanzas greeted, the corner of his mouth raised in a smirk. His rough voice was unusually cheerful, his posture undeniably composed, the black cloak pushed back off his shoulders to leave his bare arms free. "What's going on? Some cart just nearly hit you, and you didn't even flinch."

She choked back a gasp as her eyes regained their focus and dragged her back to the present. Automatically, she looked toward the stairs where she'd last seen him, but the girl had gone as well. When her gaze met his face, the White-Silver Dragoon had to restrain the urge to slap him. "Nothing's going on," she snapped back.

He shrugged, unconcerned. "Whatever you say. Why's your face all red, then?"

Shirley pushed past him angrily, but stopped short of actually stalking away, crossing her arms beneath her chest. "If you'd met a girl," she finally muttered, "you could have mentioned it."

"Girl?" Kanzas repeated, arching an eyebrow at her. As if suddenly remembering the bundle he held in one hand, he raised it up fast, nearly smacking her in the arm with it. "Oh, her. She brought me food."

She turned her head, otherwise not moving. "What's her name?"

"Kay-something… why do you care about something like that?" he answered, laughing. "I just met her. I don't even remember."

Confounded, she felt her lips moving before sound even came out. She knew that since they'd returned some of the citizens of Vellweb had been going out of their way to be, well, friendly to the Dragoons; she herself had had to politely turn down a few embarrassing offers, as had the others. It had never occurred to her that any of them actually would- "Do you always kiss people you've just met?" Shirley asked slowly, testing something.

He realized, then, what she was referring to: he'd almost forgotten it himself, the night in Mekadris when he'd met her again for the first time. He smiled back over his shoulder at her, fiddling with the knot holding the handkerchief closed. "Sometimes," he answered.

"I don't believe you," she huffed finally, shaking her head and starting across the square, lifting the hem of her pale turquoise robe out of the slush. Unasked, he caught up quickly and followed her just at her side, still smiling. "That's not very fair to the poor girl," she continued after a moment. "She's just impressed because you're a Dragoon. It's not as if she knows what you're like."

_You don't really, either, _he told her silently, chuckling at her angry expression. "That's all thanks to you, you know. I'd never be a knight if you hadn't made me one. Besides, what does it hurt, Lady Shirley?" A second later, his amusement grew cold, enough to make her lose a step and nearly stumble as she walked. "Or would you rather I act like a Wingly lord and have her beaten for daring to look me in the eye?"

"Of course I wouldn't!" she shot back immediately, raising her hand to her Dragoon Spirit and squeezing it. "But that, you - you're… using her!"

Finally getting the knot of sweat-damp fabric free, Kanzas opened the bundle he held, inspecting the chunk of meat and crumbling biscuit it held. Amber eyes met brown as he shrugged and answered, "And yet everyone gets what they want."

"I wish I had such a simple view of the world as you do," she sighed, giving up the argument as a lost cause.

"Really?" he demanded, sounding almost happily surprised. As Shirley stalked on silently, he fished the cold meat from the wrapping in his other hand, raising it up to the morning light. "Hmm," the man murmured idly, breaking apart the seared flesh a little, "I wonder what kind this is."

"Oh, I don't know… wind weasel, maybe?" she suggested in a peeved, almost derisive tone, waving her hand flippantly.

He shrugged as if he couldn't hear the irritation in her voice, peeling away a piece and popping it in his mouth. "Not bad," he told her as he chewed, raising his eyebrows before proffering the haunch to her.

Shirley shook her head immediately, giving him a narrow-eyed look that suggested he think again. Nearly choking as he tried to laugh, he swallowed down the bite of meat, grabbing her arm to stop her and spin her to face him.

Annoyed, she tried to move on, but his grip on her arm was like iron. "I don't think I have anything more to say to you right now," she informed him icily.

"Look," Kanzas began, falling into seriousness, "you can take a bandit, dress him up, make him some king - and in the end he's _still_ gonna be a bandit. I already told you I'm not going to change to fit whatever this stupid idea of a Human lord is, even if you don't like it. It's just too damn bad for you."

"Kanzas," she told him in a soft voice, reaching up to give his cheek a pat, "you can tell yourself that, but I've seen too much to know that's true."

He caught her wrist as it descended, eyes narrowing. _Don't act like you know! You don't know anything, and if you did- _"You just see what I want you to see."

She didn't respond, though she shook her head tolerantly, and as her knowing smile began to hurt somewhere in his chest he glanced over her shoulder. A second later, he shoved the remains of the bundle into her hands with a quick movement and pushed past her, heading toward a large gathering of soldiers circled near the edge of the square.

Wrinkling her nose and surreptitiously setting the crumb-filled handkerchief on top of a stack of crates, she let out an explosive sigh and went after him, watching the swirl of his cloak as he pushed his way through the crowd. Shirley followed in his wake, murmuring apologies, and then stopped near the inside of the circle to see Zieg standing there, apparently running through training exercises.

A swatch of indigo nearby caught her eye and she turned with some surprise to find Rose there, watching as well. As she picked her way over, the other woman noticed her and gave her a quick wave with a gloved hand before glancing back toward her fiancé and the soldiers.

"Rose?" the red-haired Dragoon asked curiously, reaching her side. "I thought you were on border patrol with Syuveil."

She nodded, replying, "Well, I was going to be, but Syuveil thought it would be a good idea to let Damia go instead, to help her bond a bit with her vassal dragon and get used to things. I agreed, so here I am."

Shirley frowned thoughtfully. They had found that two Dragoons were enough for a flying patrol, but in order to cover the border entirely the two had to split up and go in separate directions. "True, but I still hope Damia's all right flying around on her own," she pointed out. "If she does run into something-"

"Then she'd better deal with it," Kanzas interjected, suddenly turning up next to her and draping his arm around her shoulders, giving Rose a sneer at the same time. Not in the mood for his games, Shirley ducked away, taking a step to the side. As if he hadn't noticed, he went on, "You can't call the kid a Dragoon and then have her sit around darning socks or whatever. She's destined or something, right? Like the rest of us. But Soa must really have something against her-"

"And I suppose you'd know?" Rose asked disdainfully, her gaze not leaving the sparring figures in the circle of onlookers.

"Not me," he said with a mirthless grin. "You people are the ones who believe in fate. Fate's a fine thing when it's working in your favor, but you have to take the good fate with the bad, you know, if you believe in it. The kid might be fated to be a Dragoon, but she might also be fated to fall off her dragon and die in a ravine somewhere. You have to believe in that, too."

Rose snorted, otherwise ignoring him, and Shirley pointed her finger at him accusingly. "One of these days, Kanzas," she told him irately, "I have to introduce you to a concept called 'tact'."

"I've done just fine without it so far." He reached to undo the tie that held his cloak fastened at his shoulder, pulling it free and once again pushing the whole thing into her arms. "Hold that."

"Stop handing me things!" she protested, raising the cloth as if to drop it to the mucky ground, but after a moment she pulled it back against herself, frowning. "What are you doing, anyway?"

He didn't answer, tugging the long claw from the sheath at his side and winding the cords around his fingers, palm, and wrist to fasten it tightly to the back of his hand even as he strode forward. Shirley groaned as she understood, burying her face momentarily into the cloak she held. Next to her, Rose suddenly tensed, realizing it for herself.

"Okay. Those were your basic attack stances," Zieg was saying as his teenaged sparring partner stood back; he held a longsword outward lightly with one hand, hazel eyes flicking across the soldiers before him. "However, defensive measures are the most important part of swordsmanship-"

There was a sudden streak of motion, and then the sword flew from his hand, making a kind of _fwip-fwip-fwip _sound in the air before landing with a metallic clatter on the paving stones. Kanzas straightened and turned around, to Shirley's eyes an insufferably smug grin on his face. "Yeah, but what happens if you lose the sword?" he asked the other Dragoon.

Though the soldiers appeared to be offended, Zieg looked only momentarily startled before taking it in stride, giving a short laugh. "Then," the blonde answered, thrusting his arm forward in a punch, "you do what you have to!"

The shorter man ducked to the side, raising his arm to slightly deflect the hit to his shoulder. Twisting a little, he kicked one of Zieg's legs out from under him. The Red-Eye Dragoon caught himself on one knee, lunging forward to knock his opponent off his feet; they landed hard on the stone, neither appearing to mind the pain.

Kanzas slammed the palm of his hand upward to knock him away, though Zieg hooked his other arm to keep him from springing to his feet. He was forced to let go, however, as the blade tied to the back of Kanzas' other hand went swinging just past his face.

"Unfair!" a man's voice called from the crowd, met with a general grumble of agreement.

"Winglies aren't gonna let up on you if you lose your weapon," Kanzas announced to the soldiers, though his gaze remained on Zieg; both of them had gotten back up to their knees, watching the other with a degree of wariness. "It's war, and they have magic besides. They don't give a damn about fighting with honor."

Suddenly tumbling across the slushy square, Zieg grabbed for the hilt of his sword, swinging it back around to meet Kanzas' downward slice. Holding the curved blade away from him, he raised his foot to kick him in the stomach, a grunt of pain escaping the russet-haired man as he slid backward, breathing hard as the wind was knocked out of him.

"It's like a tavern brawl," Zieg agreed, grinning as he too caught his breath. "Use whatever you can to win!"

The two female Dragoons were watching the fight intently; Shirley found herself shaking her head slowly in disbelief at the sight. "I don't _believe_ you," she repeated unconsciously, narrowing her eyes at Kanzas and continuing although he obviously couldn't hear a word she was saying. "You just do what you want to, don't you?"

Rose made a little half-hearted noise of amusement. "It's strange to see you so riled up."

"Kanzas seems to have that effect on people," she muttered back, resting a hand on her hip.

The dark-haired woman lifted her hand, looking at it thoughtfully as she flexed her fingers, obviously remembering something. "If you let him," she answered, dropping her hand without further explanation.

Shirley nodded, sighing. "He's been purposely aggravating me all morning, and I have no idea why."

"Probably because you react to it," she suggested. "You know, I'm still surprised he even deigned to swear loyalty to Emperor Diaz, to help us poor, pitiful Humans, for all the concern he ever gives anyone."

"He was chosen," she answered with a shrug, "and I'm just glad he did swear it. Besides, his strength is helpful to us…"

Rose curled her lip, but finally conceded, "He is powerful, but there's a difference between a fire in the hearth and one in the trees, if you understand me." She waved a slender hand toward the match before them in the square, which by now had attracted many more interested onlookers, cheering for one or the other. "All that effort in a practice fight… he has no control at all."

Shirley bit her lip, wincing as Kanzas flung his hand forward, tearing a long jagged line down the side of Zieg's face and succinctly illustrating the other woman's point. "Well," she pointed out a bit weakly, noting Rose's irritation at the wound, "he's used to fighting for real."

Even more blood was being spilled now, the point of Zieg's longsword whipping a deep cut across the Thunder Dragoon's forearm. Trying to resist the urge to rush out and make them stop fighting, Shirley folded and refolded the black cloth in her hands, focusing on that for a while.

"If you _do_ get a Wingly at hand-to-hand, try to keep them at the - ugh - ground no matter what! Don't let them get flying!"

There were three tears in the fabric of the cloak; she ran her hand across them, dipping her fingers briefly through the evenly-spaced holes. _If he bought it secondhand in Magrad,_ she wondered idly, _wouldn't it have been mended already?_

Hadn't his old claw had three blades?

Rose glanced over as her hand suddenly froze above the cloth, and when she saw the holes she gave a little, almost sympathetic sigh. "Was wondering when you'd notice those," she said.

"Coincidence," she whispered back.

The Darkness Dragoon made an annoyed noise. "I wish you wouldn't try to explain away everything he does. A reason doesn't make a right."

She watched Kanzas for a moment, watched him grinning as he sparred with Zieg, whirling, cutting, kicking, taking the other man's slashes as though he barely felt his skin tearing under the blade. If she hadn't known who they were, if he hadn't been smiling like that, she would have thought for certain that they were both out to kill each other.

But no, she didn't know when she'd ever seen him so… happy.

Shirley frowned. "What's your reason for hating him, Rose?" she finally asked, her tone a bit stronger than usual. "Yes, he likes fighting, but I just can't believe he's as bad as you say, that he - he murders Humans! This is war, and he hates Winglies… they caused him a lot of pain. I don't like it, but…"

What he wanted her to believe, what he wanted everyone to believe, wasn't necessarily the truth. She hadn't seen enough to prove that it was the truth, that he wasn't only telling stories to scare her… and she didn't _want_ to believe it was the truth.

When the red-haired woman didn't go on, Rose began, "We Humans, Shirley… we weren't created for fighting, for war, or so they say. I think that we Humans face battle by letting ourselves go crazy - with sorrow, and anger, and hate as fuel…" She sighed, shaking her head. "And the Dragoon Spirit is just an instrument to expand that insanity."

She nodded mutely, aware that she'd reached to take hold of her own spirit just moments before. It was such a habit, to reach to it for comfort, and yet this same small orb was responsible for - for…

Insanity. That was what it had been, what she'd felt during the battle in the valley. That warm, golden light that seemed to move through her, radiate from her, that perfect calmness that allowed her to launch arrow after arrow into the throat of a man who knelt at her feet. The joy she'd felt upon seeing the pain of the Winglies who fell before her, the beautiful happiness of cruelty they so richly, richly deserved-

Shirley felt her grip on the orb relaxing, stared almost unbelievingly at her own shaking fingers, and then buried both her hands into the folds of Kanzas' wadded-up cloak, hugging it tightly against her. "Terrible," she whispered, so that Rose had to lean closer to hear her over the sounds of the voices cheering her friends on. "It's true, Rose, but it's terrible. To lose yourself just to be able to harm another…"

"I know," she murmured back, her face emotionless, as white and cold as porcelain. "It's a fight in itself to control that insanity, to hold to what you are in the face of that. The Dragoon Spirits only make it harder. And that's why I don't like him." Her lips twisted into a humorless smirk as she watched the two constantly-moving figures in the circle. "He's already lost that fight. And I know that I can so… so easily become what he is."

She shook her head to deny it, though the truth was striking her straight through. "How can you be so sure?"

"I have gone through a great deal to be able to claim that I know myself," Rose snapped back. "You see the good in everyone, even when it doesn't exist. If I allowed it, I could let my anger speak for me, _hurt_ for me-" She frowned deeply, clenching her fists. "Would you excuse it of me, too?"

Shirley didn't look at her, simply staring down at the cloth in her arms. What could she say to that? There wasn't good in everyone - she could simply look to Melbu Frahma to know that. And if even he did have good hidden in him somewhere, could that ever excuse his crimes?

A loud cheer came up from the crowd, nearly obscuring the great scraping noise of metal on metal, the blade of Kanzas' claw spraying sparks as it grated against Zieg's sword. The two were covered in sweat now, still showing no signs of slowing, of either giving in. Skill, rage, insanity - what was driving them to fight so hard? What were they proving now to these soldiers, all townsmen and farmhands who would never be able to match what they were seeing?

"I'm sorry," Rose said in a softer voice after a moment, gently squeezing Shirley's shoulder. "I don't mean to yell at you, or sneer at your kindness. None of us would wish you to become as cold as me."

"You're not cold, Rose," she forced out, giving a shaky little laugh. "Just realistic, I suppose." With her forefinger, she traced the outlines of the rips in the black cloak thoughtfully, around and around each of the three jagged tears. _Maybe… maybe, you're just right…_

* * *

Several hours had passed, and afternoon was wearing on as Shirley and Belzac walked along the upper city wall, just ambling quietly with no real aim in mind. Belzac was carrying down a small stack of storybooks from Syuveil's tower; the still-absent scholar's hoard of paper had been very useful in repairing several torn pages. Eventually they'd have to return to the orphanage, but at the moment they were just enjoying the sunlight, filtered as it was through crisp, cold air. 

The young woman sighed, smiling as the breeze ruffled her hair. Right now, she was very glad that Belzac knew her well enough to know when to say nothing at all. She could feel the end of his brown cloak whipping around behind her, the warmth of his arm right near her cheek, and as they walked she had to resist the urge to simply lean her head against him, let all the annoyances of the morning fade away-

"Oh! It's Shirley! Look, I found her!"

She turned sharply upon hearing the familiar voice, her face lighting up in surprise at the sight of the two young men hurrying her way, both dressed in the mismatched boiled leather armor that most of Gloriano's foot soldiers wore. "…Duncan? Miles?" she said softly.

The taller of the two raised his arm, waving at her as if to catch her attention. "Hey, Shirley!"

Only half-hearing Belzac's muffled exclamation as he recognized them as well, she stepped forward to meet them partway, wrapping one arm around each of the teenagers' necks in a hug. "What are you two _doing_ here?" she demanded, immediately standing back to give them a rather familiar glare. "I certainly hope Mama knows-"

Her younger half-brothers immediately glanced at each other tellingly, though she could see their faces were beginning to flush with embarrassment at the thought they might have been seen being hugged. "Of course she knows we've volunteered," Duncan began.

"Saw us off at the door," Miles finished, mock-hurt in his voice. "Made us meat pies to take with."

The red-haired Dragoon sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. Though a year apart in age, Duncan and Miles had always been as close as twins, and they even looked similar, both with the green eyes and feathery brown hair of their father. "Well, even so," she protested unhappily.

"Don't act so surprised, Shirley! We're not going to stay home while _you're_ here fighting Winglies." Duncan shrugged proudly, absently polishing his worn leather bracer on the long hem of his grayish homespun tunic.

Before she could retort, the other boy added gleefully, "Besides, Ma made Atlow stay home, and he's only a year younger than me. His face went absolutely red! She had to actually tie him to the tree by the road fork to keep him from following after!"

"He's going to fall to pieces," Duncan said reflectively, "when he finds out there's a girl Dragon Knight even younger than him."

"And what does Papa think about this?" Shirley asked sternly. She'd been rather young when her mother had married Corey, one of her new owner's slaves, and so rarely made a distinction between him and her real father, whom she could barely remember. "Isn't he here, too?"

Miles shrugged, his voice lowered suddenly. "He could have come, but he didn't want to leave Ma and Atlow and the kids alone, in case there's more… you know, burnings."

She shuddered at the thought, brown eyes widening in horror, and the elder boy put his hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "We're not close to the border at all," he reminded her. "And they say the emperor's got enough volunteers, so they don't have to conscript yet. So they're okay, Shirley."

The Dragoon nodded, taking a breath to calm the sudden knot in her throat. Despite Duncan's words, she knew that her stepfather being there wouldn't help her family if the Winglies decided to attack them. _No, it's up to us here… it's up to _me_ to protect them._

She was glad when her brothers were distracted by Belzac's approach, watching as they turned to greet him familiarly, as Belzac returned the greetings and asked about his mother, who lived on adjacent land to her family just as she had when they were all slaves in the Eastlands.

Exchanging a glance with the half-Giganto, she knew that he wasn't too happy about these two being here, either. Even though they were surrounded by soldiers just as young, she didn't want to see her siblings risking their lives in this war. Perhaps it was hypocritical, but she still couldn't help the feeling. "Where are you assigned?" she demanded suddenly when there was a lull in the conversation.

"We're working on the construction," Duncan told her, waving a hand negligently toward the spear-shooter looming above. "Not exactly what I pictured us doing, but it is important, after all."

Shirley hid her breath of relief, knowing Belzac was doing the same. At least they weren't sitting in Magrad, waiting for an attack - but she kept quiet, realizing how proud her brothers were about being soldiers. There was no need to inadvertently goad them into doing something stupidly brave, after all, like volunteering to go where it was more dangerous. "All right," she settled for saying, giving him a nod. "I certainly hope you're not abandoning your post to find me."

Miles beamed innocently. "Well, you know, us knowing you two has its advantages. Even the sergeant doesn't yell as us quite so much, in case the Dragoons come down and start glaring at him or something-"

"Oh, Miles," she groaned, "that's not right! If anything, I'll find him and tell him to be extra hard on you-"

"Yeah, she would, too, so don't be stupid," the other boy hissed in his ear, giving him a poke. He then whirled around, giving Shirley a smile she was instantly suspicious of. "But, Shirley, you have that dragon, right?"

She looked at Belzac, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged, a smile playing on his face. He'd known them since they'd been born, and he could tell Duncan was working up to something amusing. Putting her hands on her hips, the young woman answered, "Yes… but…"

"Can I borrow it?"

Her friend instantly started laughing as she could only gape in disbelief. "Whyever would you need to borrow a dragon?" Belzac asked, chuckling.

"Well," the teenager answered, flexing his fingers almost nervously, "Merril would be really impressed if I came to see her riding a dragon!"

It was Miles' turn to give his older brother a poke in the side. "What do you need to impress her for?" he asked derisively. "You're already engaged."

"So?" he shot back, swatting his hand away. "That doesn't mean I don't want to anyway!"

"Wait, Merril?" Shirley asked, raising a hand to her head as if to ward off a headache, her large turquoise sleeve briefly hiding her face. "The neighbor girl, Merril? You're engaged?"

Duncan nodded, a faint flush on his cheeks. "Yeah. I asked. We're getting married in summer, when it's warm enough. The whole village is invited. It'll be a great feast! You'll wish you were there instead of here in your _towers_ and your _palaces_, Dragon Knight-"

"Congratulations," Belzac said automatically, too surprised to think of much else.

Shirley, however, rolled her eyes at the unsubtle dig at her rank, knowing she would be invited anyhow. "Duncan, aren't you too young to be married? Isn't Merril just a child?"

"She's fourteen, I'm sixteen," he pointed out, chin in the air briefly. "That's plenty old enough to get married, Shirley. You haven't been home properly in years, and you're remembering things all wrong. I'm not little anymore, you know."

"Ah, Sister's just jealous because she's nearly twenty-one and still an old maid," Miles added rather matter-of-factly. "I don't know why you didn't just marry her ages ago, Belzac."

It was as if he'd torn a scab away from a wound she'd thought was healed over by now. Beside her, the Golden Dragoon tensed, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on the small stack of books. Both of them had the same thing in mind, the memory of a certain event immediately called forth - even the same words echoing through them.

_'He was going to marry me, Belzac! And now, because of you, Wake's been sold away and Master's sending me to the Life City and I'll never see any of you ever again!'_

She winced at the thought of her younger self's hurt accusations, Belzac's guilt over his loss of control rising up in his chest one more time. It had all been fate, of course, all part of Soa's will, for in the Life City Shirley had met Diaz and had been discovered by the White-Silver Dragoon Spirit. And yet, part of her, part of him, still wondered 'what if'…

Breaking out of it, Belzac shook his head, giving the young soldier a disapproving frown. "It's not really any of your business," he said with finality.

"Idiot!" Duncan hissed, giving his brother a rather hard whack upside the head. "Don't you _remember_?"

"But-" Miles protested with a wince, looking genuinely confused as he turned toward Shirley. "Remember what? What did I say?"

She glared at him pointedly enough that he gulped and turned away, pretending to look over the edge of the wall with great interest. Oh, there was definitely something about thunder elementals, Shirley decided crossly, that made them prone to speak without thinking. She knew she shouldn't be surprised, though only two of her younger siblings had inherited the element from her mother - she'd had even _more_ experience with that particular trait lately.

Duncan cleared his throat, giving Miles a look before saying, "Well, uh… it was nice to see you, Shirley. But if we don't get back to work we're gonna end up covering over latrine ditches or something-"

"_Right_," Miles said hastily, straightening and, with a moment's hesitation, ripping off a quick salute toward the two Dragoons. "Um, sorry," he finished, red-faced, before turning and hurrying away.

Shirley sighed, shaking her head, affection flickering on her expression quickly. "Tell him it's all right," she murmured as Duncan, with rather more decorum, saluted as well. He gave her a quick grin, lighting up his boyish face, and nodded before running after his brother.

She watched them disappear up a rough-cut flight of stairs, but continued to stand there long after they'd left her sight. Beside her, her friend exhaled loudly, shaking his head. She tilted her head to look at him, saying, "Tell me I'm being silly for worrying about them, Belzac."

"Unfortunately, I can't do that," he said with faint amusement. Seeing the boys had been like being home again, and he was ashamed to admit that he hadn't thought so much about his mother lately, thanks to all that had been going on. "I'm worried, too."

"They'll be okay," Shirley told herself. However, she felt her eyes being drawn toward the creaking mass of scaffolds and rollers and ropes that covered the palace building above, the odd rib-like form of the spear-shooter slowly taking shape. Shaking her head, she looked down again, pulling her white cloak tighter around her shoulders. "They'll… be okay."

* * *

The sparkling, shifting colors spilled over him as he passed, the magic lights reflected and multiplied by the palace's crystalline walls. Commander Leki walked almost deliberately slowly down the hallway, his head bowed, his thoughts turned inward as he listened to the quiet footsteps of the two guards behind him - his escort, of course, though it seemed more like they were accompanying him to an execution. 

He had spent the time between the battle and this coming meeting recovering in the Twin Palace far to the south. Strangely enough, in that time no one had mentioned what had been lost. It was almost as if it had never happened, until he had finally been summoned to the capital.

For Leki there was another constant reminder, besides his guilt: although his wounds had been healed under the gentle ministrations of the Lady of the Palace, his magic still had not returned. He wondered if it was because of that dark dragon-woman's attack, or if it was instead from the terribly painful release of the spell that his lord had given him. He was still weak, but he couldn't put off this trip, and although the Lady herself was Frahma's cousin, she couldn't override the order either.

He raised his hand almost automatically to trace the jagged crack splitting the broken amulet that still hung around his neck. It had been several days since he'd summoned that creature, and even now he could barely work up the energy to fly. The young commander had entered the Palace of the Winglies on the teleporters like a Human slave, trailed by Frahma's watchful men; it seemed rather fitting, somehow, in light of his spectacular disgrace.

Right now he would give anything to be back in the Southlands with the Lady instead of here in Kadessa, about to face Melbu Frahma.

The commander was led by the guards into the empty drawing room located just off the throne room, left there to wait as the door closed behind him. He couldn't sit down, pacing around in nervousness, hands clenched into clammy fists. It didn't comfort him much that he'd been brought here again rather than the gigantic throne room, as Frahma could sentence him to death - or even kill him - easily enough anyplace.

Time was dragging on, and Leki realized he was being made to wait in order to make him more nervous. It was working, but he tried to calm down, wiping his hands on the sides of his dove-gray coat before sitting on one of the plush couches.

Finally, after fifteen minutes had passed, the door on the other side of the room opened silently. A long teal and brown robe sweeping the floor, moving as though floating although his wings were nowhere to be seen, Melbu Frahma entered the drawing room, looking at the commander with hooded eyes. A small, dark-haired Human girl followed right behind him, looking firmly at the ground as she mechanically moved to stand back by the wall.

Faced with his lord, the Wingly sprang to his feet before quickly bowing to one knee, hoping the motion had hidden the look of fear and disgust on his face. It had been ten years since the ruler of the Winglies had changed, since he and his sister had fought and defeated the unborn God of Destruction; Leki himself had been too young and too low-ranking to be told the details of what had transpired. All he knew was that, before this fight, Frahma had looked as normal as any other - if not colder than most - with crimson eyes and pale hair, not this engraved statue-gray skin and terrifying-

"Commander Leki Bardel. You showed yourself most miserably in this first trial against the winged apes."

The voice sounded with all the force of a whip-crack, and he flinched despite himself, his fingers curling back into fists. Part of him wanted to plead that he shouldn't have been leading the army in the first place, that he had been trained but he had only before commanded watchmen, it was nothing alike… "My lord, forgive me-"

"Silence, soldier," he commanded almost casually, and Leki bit his tongue, wincing. Melbu Frahma tilted his head down to look at him, spindly fingers flickering in a pattern, and the broken amulet suddenly rose up toward its creator, dragging the commander's neck up with it. Frahma, grabbing hold of it, tugged him further upward, leaving the man in an uncomfortable half-crouch as he tried to keep his head lower than his lord's. "Tell me, how did they manage to defeat this power I gave you?"

Gritting back the pain, Leki couldn't, however, avoid Melbu Frahma's gaze, no matter how he wanted to impolitely close his eyes. "One of them used… dragon magic, sir!" he gasped, the blood gone from his face. "It buried the creature I'd called forth!"

Scrutinizing him, his eyes piercing into the other Wingly's, Frahma finally gave the amulet a yank, breaking its chain, his subordinate falling back to the floor. "And yet," he said musingly, holding up the broken necklace before tucking it into a pocket of his robe, "and yet… you did call it forth, Commander Leki."

"My lord," he responded, forcing himself not to rub at the place where the metal had bitten into the back of his neck. He bowed his head, the platinum waves of his hair falling to frame his face. "I did, my lord."

"It was painful, was it not?" Frahma asked, his voice going soft.

Leki frowned inwardly in surprise. "It was, my lord," he answered emphatically, although uneasiness made him add, "though that might have been from the wound one of the… the Dragoons' magic… sword… gave me."

As if marveling at that, the Wingly dictator tapped his fingertips together, the gesture reminiscent of the ripple of a spider's legs. "And yet, even wounded," he repeated quietly, "you still braved the pain, Commander, and even as you felt the agony of your magic dwindling away you still summoned the Virage, the spawn of the God of Destruction."

"The God of-" he choked, sinking back where he'd fallen, too shocked to find the strength to rise up to his knees once more. "That was-"

The thinnest of smiles crossed Frahma's face. "Yes, indeed. I am surrounded by deceit and betrayal and _stupidity_, Commander Leki. My faithful officers - like your predecessor - are killed in foolish fights with Humans. Faust creates images of himself and secretly gathers his power against me - and the mere commander of the Southlands army, leader of five thousand, risks death, risks his very soul, in trust of the power I have given him."

Still stunned by that revelation, Leki merely nodded as if he understood what Melbu Frahma was going on about now. At least he wasn't angry - at least, not yet…

"You wonder why I tell you this," he said with a humorless laugh as the other man flinched at his perception. "It has come to pass, Commander, that even amongst the highest tier of my lords there exists one who has already betrayed me. Phili, Overseer of Zenebatos - once directly your own superior, was he not?"

"The Overseer, my lord?" Leki whispered. "But he would never-"

Frahma, scowling, interrupted him, his voice suddenly sharp and angry. "Even as you called down the Virage, Commander, the _former_ Overseer was provoking rebellion, saying that this war is unjust - our very survival, unjust! No longer, Commander Leki - and now I have need of a loyal man. You have proven your loyalty to me, and you will be Overseer of Zenebatos in his place."

His head spinning, the young Wingly managed to protest, "My lord - Overseer? But I - I failed you-"

Aqua eyes narrowed, he answered, "The loss of your army does not matter - we have simply discovered the measure of the Humans' power. That they could defeat the Virage is no matter, for more can be summoned, and will. I have sent Faust against them now, to prevail or fall as he will. And if he should fall…" he chuckled coldly, "it will not matter either."

Though he was not so foolish as to say it aloud, inwardly Leki was astonished at the senselessness of what he'd just heard. Frahma would throw away the lives of his soldiers to test the Humans, sacrifice Faust and his great power because the magician might rise against him?

"Now," Frahma declaimed, "stand, Overseer Leki. There is respect between us. The ruler of a great city does not cower on my drawing room floor." As the younger Wingly hurriedly lurched to his feet, Frahma turned toward the Human girl by the wall, gesturing sharply. She immediately gave a bow and stepped out the side door, closing it behind her. "Come," was the next command, and Leki could only follow after as his ruler swept toward another, larger door across the way, the one that connected to the throne room.

The room they entered was enormous, the ceiling several stories high. Beams of colored light fell from above, changing as they intersected to make swirling patterns across the dark marble floor. Moving in that odd floating way, Frahma took a seat on the carved slab of a throne, resting his hands lightly across the arms as Leki nervously stood in a spot somewhat off to the side and below the dais itself. "Very well," he said sonorously, his lids lowered almost to the point of being closed. "Your first order of business, Overseer, will be dealt with now."

"My lord?" he asked, garnet eyes blinking in confusion. The former commander felt lightheaded, watching as the small Human girl reentered the room, her face blank as she assumed her place standing to the right of the throne.

A moment later came the flash of teleport lights, and several figures appeared in the middle of the throne room. When the light had subsided, he could see two of them were guards, standing on either side of a woman, who had been thrown to the floor at the ruler's feet. She was a Wingly, from the shimmering white of the long hair that shaded her face, and in her arms she clutched a small boy.

Suddenly, the woman's head shot up, her eyes filled with hatred as she glared up at Melbu Frahma. "You monster-!" She tried to rise to her feet, but one of the soldiers backhanded her, sending her sprawling. She let out a soft cry as she twisted to avoid landing on the child, her hip glancing hard against the marble.

She was wearing only a pale ruffled slip of the kind which usually went under a dress, though it was torn and one shoulder strap hung free, and Leki felt his cheeks redden a bit. He quickly turned his gaze away, glancing up at Frahma questioningly, wondering why he was witnessing this and not liking the answers he was coming up with. The woman looked somewhat familiar; in fact, he was certain he'd seen her before.

Lazily, Frahma held out his hand, making a quick motion with the other, and the woman suddenly gasped as the boy in her arms was torn from her grip. "Lloyd!" she screamed, lunging forward, but she was immediately dragged back by the guards at her sides.

The child cried out sharply, but only once, and his wings burst into being as he fought to right himself a moment before the ruler caught him. Thin hands pressed tight under his arms, he was lifted up to the man's eye level, Frahma regarding him as if he was a rare new ornament for the shelves.

"A pity, child," Melbu Frahma whispered finally, raising Lloyd higher, tilting back his head to gaze into the little boy's rapt, frightened eyes. "Your magic is strong; if not for the foolishness of your father, you would live to see the paradise I even now create - a utopia where the divine Winglies rule unchallenged by lesser creatures."

Though Frahma made no further move, the boy was suddenly flung back toward his mother, and with surprising strength she yanked her arms away from the soldiers holding her and caught him before he passed her, knocked down with tears in her eyes.

Leki, who'd unconsciously moved to help as well, stopped himself and stepped back, his teeth clenched in anger he could barely repress. Whether the woman was some criminal or not, the child had nothing to do with any of this…

"Overseer Leki Bardel," Frahma said quietly, a small smile stretching his chalky lips, "you find before you Raiza, wife of your predecessor Phili, former Lady of Zenebatos and complicit in the former Overseer's treachery. Your first act as the ruler of the City of Justice is to cast judgment on this woman and child."

Terrified, he froze in place, staring at the two people huddled there on the floor, dwarfed by the hugeness of the room around them, trapped just like he was in the revenge the Wingly dictator had taken upon them. He did not want this. He didn't want any of it at all - but if he disobeyed Frahma now, what would happen? The woman and boy would not be saved, and he would be punished, or killed…

He'd been happy as a soldier, and yes, he'd been loyal to his ruler, but what could he do now? Sweat trickled down the side of his face, the back of his neck, his heart pounding in fear. He knew what he had to decide in order to keep this strange favor of his lord; he knew they'd have to die-

"Leki," Frahma said sternly, though amusement still played in his voice, "what is their fate?"

"S-send them to the surface," he blurted out, his eyes fixed on the woman. She looked up at him suddenly, sharply, and he drew in a deep, shaking breath. "Banish them from our lands forever." He could feel the piercing sensation of Frahma's gaze on him, regarding him closely, but he couldn't tear his own eyes away from Raiza.

She was giving him a look of confusion, but there was something deeper than that, an intense hatred and a promise of vengeance, no matter how long it took. He tried to plead with her silently, trying to show her how much he hadn't wanted to do this, but after a moment she simply turned her head, holding her son closer.

Finally, the dictator waved his hand in a slashing motion, and the guards came forward again. "The judgment has been chosen," he said in wondering tones. "An interesting choice."

"My lord," he began, his voice a reedy whisper as he tried to force it past his constricted throat. "I had-"

Going on as if he hadn't spoken, Frahma continued, "Indeed, it shows surprising cleverness. Banishing a Wingly from our people's protection with the Humans in such an uproar… not only a sentence of death, but one in which the date of execution is never quite certain. Yes… I am pleased, Overseer."

Leki bit hard on his tongue to hold back his gasp. That wasn't what he'd meant - he'd wanted to spare them, he was trying to be kind, even if Frahma would think it weak - this wasn't what he'd wanted! He tried again to silently apologize to Raiza, but she didn't even look up, remaining in her bowed position, shoulders shaking, brushing back the platinum locks of Lloyd's hair with her fingertips.

Another gesture from the gray-skinned Wingly and the soldiers bent to take hold of the captives, teleporting the two away; even after they'd gone Leki could only stare at the place where they'd been, raising his clasped hands up to cover his mouth and trying to calm his trembling.

Frahma chuckled softly, and he finally dared to glance up at him; the lord was also still looking ahead, as if seeing into the place where the prisoners had been taken. "No pity for traitors, my loyal Leki, or their kin," he mused softly. "They will meet their deaths at the hands of the Humans they wished us to spare, and Mayfil's darkness will ever show them the error of their reasoning."

"My lord," he simply echoed weakly, letting his hands fall in defeat.

Suddenly, the other man said, "Very well. I expect you must attend your move to the palace in Zenebatos, your family must be told… do you have a wife, Overseer?" Leki shook his head mutely, and Melbu Frahma went on, "Ah, but then you must find one, as is only fitting. I would give you my sister…"

Stricken, the young Wingly gasped out, "L-Lady _Charle_? But, my lord-"

"Of course," he said, speaking as usual as if he hadn't even heard his subordinate's voice, "she's rather a liability, isn't she? Let us not invite more treason into the Law City. Ah, I know. You have spent some time with my cousin in the Twin Palace, have you not? How would you like her?"

He had enjoyed her company, of course, had even grown rather fond of the calm, compassionate woman, but he had never expected to be asked about it, and for a moment tried for the words before he was able to speak. "Lord Frahma," Leki protested, shaking his head in confusion, "yes, I - I like her, but the Lady is already married!"

"Oh?" he responded, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't think that will be a problem, shortly. So it is done, Overseer." He smiled, staring back out into the distance even as he stood. "You have things to attend to. You are dismissed."

"Yes, my lord," he breathed, falling into a dizzying bow. He half-raised his hand to teleport before remembering how drained of magic he still was, and so, exhaling deeply, he turned to walk quickly toward the huge doors of the throne room's entrance. The doors were opened for him by two slaves, but he barely saw them, storming through the corridors at a near-run.

He didn't know where he was going, and didn't recognize the gate that he finally threw open; Leki was startled when he found it led into a garden. The trees were aligned in orderly rows and were in full, perpetual bloom, a riot of greenery and flowers spilling from their beds across the untended pathways. The garden was open to the air outside, but no breeze blew, even at this height in the sky.

Falling heavily against a curved stone bench, the former commander gagged and retched, trying to rid himself of the sick feeling of utter disgust that clutched at his stomach. He was responsible for what would surely be the deaths of his former lady and her little son - how many more lives would now be on his head?

Finally, holding onto the bench and gasping, he laid his head miserably on his gray-clad arms, the pleasant, perfect heat of the Kadessa sun filtering down onto him through the blossoms of the tree above.

* * *

The blare of the trumpets suddenly sounding the alarm shook her all the way through, making her heart pound in time like a drum as the noise jolted her awake. A fist knocked hard at the door of her tower, a male voice shouting something from the other side, muffled by the wood. After a moment, footsteps crunched on snow-covered stone as the guard went back down again. 

Shirley sat up quickly, throwing her blanket aside and momentarily rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She hadn't even been in bed two hours yet, but fear was already piercing through the fog of weariness in her head. Though she'd been expecting this, it was still hard to keep the vague fluttery feeling of panic from overwhelming her. She got dressed in her white pants and tunic faster than she'd thought possible, jamming her feet into warm boots, grabbing the saffron jacket and the armored vest - fighting clothes.

This was it, and a nagging thought at the back of her head kept telling her that Vellweb, that the spear-shooter, could not possibly be ready yet. Red hair flying as she snatched up bow and quiver, then raced for the door and flung it open, Shirley suddenly came to a halt on the icy landing, staring outward into the dark evening sky. The lower city was alight with torches, but, much to her relief, the huge spiral of Flanvel Tower did not mar the horizon.

_Then why the alarm?_ she thought, skidding down the first flight of steps and taking the second at a slightly slower pace. A low stream of firelight issued briefly from Zieg's tower as he and Rose both hurried down, he flipping his burgundy cloak around his shoulders, Rose pulling on her gloves. Both of them had light armor on and their swords at their waists as well.

Shirley waited for them to join her, seeing the same questions in their eyes that she knew were in hers. "It's not here-" she started, unable to finish.

"Come on," the blonde man said finally, gesturing with his head as they jogged around the curve of the tower circle toward the stairs down. "Let's find Lor- Emperor Diaz and the others and see what's happening."

The three Dragoons didn't have far to go, however, before they received their answers. There was a large gathering of soldiers just at the foot of the stairs to the towers, lining the top of the inner wall, and past the door to the throne building stood Diaz himself. Belzac and Kanzas were there next to him, also armored and carrying their weapons; as they had still been in the lower city, they had been alerted much faster than the other three.

The gates into the city had been closed, long furrows in the deep snow attesting to the fact that they were usually wide open. Shirley, Zieg and Rose didn't say anything as they came up on the wall as well, looking down at the small trail of colored lights hovering above the snowfields outside. _Winglies with magic torches, _Shirley realized, watching the gentle bob of the beams as they grew closer. _But why?_

The young woman risked a look at the emperor's face, seeing his expression set in straight, grim lines. With another glance around, she sidled over to Belzac and tugged on the edge of his cloak to get his attention. He was wearing his copper-plated breastplate, the stink of the short oiled chainmail sleeves filling her nose. He glanced down at her before moving aside to make room for her to stand at the wall next to him.

"Belzac," she whispered, "where are Syuveil and Damia?"

"Not back yet," he answered, his voice a low rumble, and she raised her hand to her mouth unconsciously, frowning. If those Winglies were bringing the missing Dragoons back to them as _trophies_, she wasn't at all sure what she'd do…

The group outside stopped a distance away, out of range of any bow, and after a moment's pause two of the lights separated and moved closer, the figures of two finely-dressed, obviously noble Winglies coming into view through the shadows, a flag of peace fluttering from the shoulder of the younger. "We will speak with your leader!" the elder demanded, hovering before the gates. His voice, magically amplified, rebounded into echoes off Vellweb's stone.

There was a moment of stillness and tension, the soldiers on the walls shifting uneasily. "Go down and speak with them, Dragoons," Diaz finally answered in a calm voice. "I will not bargain with Winglies. Shirley, Zieg, you know how to answer any demands."

She bowed in acceptance, catching Zieg's eye as she straightened. He raised his eyebrow a little, turning to accompany Rose down the curved walkway toward the huge wall. As Shirley automatically began walking behind them, Belzac at her side and Kanzas trailing after unconcernedly, the thought briefly crossed her mind that the Winglies were going to be _really impressed _by a handful of Humans with sleep-mussed hair and baggy eyes coming to meet them.

Of course, it hadn't been an accident that they'd come to Vellweb under cover of darkness, had it? She slung her bow from her shoulder and strung it as they neared the top of the wall, holding an arrow at the string but leaving it undrawn for the moment. The soldiers gathered on the ramparts moved aside as they passed; she forced herself not to search their ranks for her brothers' faces, knowing that if she found where they stood she wouldn't be able to stop worrying about them.

The five Dragoons came to a halt by the top of the gate, looking down at the two Wingly messengers below. Belzac narrowed his eyes. _At least those two have the sense to stay low right now, _he thought, at the same time waiting for the moment when the Winglies tried to fly up to eye-level with the Humans on the wall and all Hell broke loose.

Zieg leaned forward slightly, though still keeping the majority of his body hidden behind the parapets - missiles could go both ways, after all, whether bolts or spells. "What do you want?" he yelled down, the anger on his face apparent in the glow of the torchlight.

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence, and then the elder Wingly cleared his throat, holding out his hand to receive a tablet held by the other messenger. "By the will of High Lord Melbu Frahma, leader of the Wingly species and Protector of Endiness, these commands are now made! The Humans of the unrecognized empire of Gloriano are hereby ordered to surrender arms and submit peacefully!"

No one moved, simply listening as the silver-haired man shouted his commands, and Shirley shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. Did they really think these threats would make them give in? Zieg, further down the wall, snorted derisively, his mouth twisted into a smirk, but silence remained as they let the messenger deliver his entire proclamation.

"The city of Vellweb will be occupied by the Wingly army, and Wingly laws will be enforced! The Human named Diaz is hereby ordered to surrender into custody! The Humans called Dragoons will be taken into custody!"

Belzac could sense a growing agitation from the soldiers behind them and prayed their anger wouldn't incite them to try anything. However, there was muttering reaching his ears, the men asking each other if the emperor would really surrender, would really allow the Winglies to seize their property, allow their children to be killed…

"You are charged with the murder of Lady Fara, Wingly ambassador to Vellweb! You are charged with inciting rebellion, with raising an army for the purpose of furthering rebellion, attack on the Wingly military, the murder of Wingly civilians, aiding escape of slaves, causing harm to Winglies, destruction of Wingly property, theft of Wingly property-"

Kanzas shook his head as the long list of demands and charges went on, taking a slow step backward. No one paid attention to him, focused completely on the figures near the ground below. Moving up behind the men along the wall, he reached out and grabbed the shoulder of the nearest soldier, a boy with brown hair tied back in a long tail.

Letting out a low curse at being startled, the boy spun around quickly, eyes widening as the Dragoon let him go. "I want you to do something," Kanzas snapped in a low voice.

Catching hold of his nerves, he shook his head hard, almost automatically. "I wasn't told-"

He had to resist the urge to shout; there wasn't time to argue with some kid who, by the looks of it, hadn't even had his first shave. "Look, who the hell do you think I am?"

"You're a Dragon Knight, sir," the archer said promptly, a soft accent similar to Syuveil's marking him as one who had grown up around Winglies more than Humans.

He snorted, eyes narrowed. "Yeah, that's what everyone says, but what good does it do if no one _listens_?" The soldier gave a deep nod of concession, almost to the point of bowing his head mockingly. However, he straightened quickly as Kanzas grabbed hold of his slim shoulder once more, spinning him to face the wall again. "Now," he growled, "this is what you're gonna do-"

Below, the messenger seemed to finally be drawing to a halt. "If these demands are not met," he yelled up at the enraged faces staring down at him, "Flanvel Tower will destroy the settlement of Magrad! Surrender now and-"

The twang of a bowstring rang out in the darkness, and the messenger suddenly pitched backward, his voice cut off, an arrow embedded in his left eyeball all the way to its fletching.

The shimmer of his wings faded away like mist, the horrified scream of the younger Wingly breaking the silence as the body landed heavily in the snow, the tablet falling from his hand to smack down hard into the powder next to him. Bright red blood streamed from his eye socket, leaving tracks down his stunned face.

"Oh, Soa!" the other noble was screaming. In his shock, he was sprawled backwards now, scuttling on the ground away from the corpse, unheeding of the snow caking his finery. Behind him, the Wingly soldiers suddenly bristled with their weaponry. "Oh, Soa, oh Soa-!"

_Why?_ Shirley thought, her own arrow falling from her fingers as Belzac next to her reached out an unconscious hand to steady her, his jaw dropped in disbelief. _But… why!_

"If _anyone_ moves, you'll be shot where you are!" Zieg bellowed immediately, leaning forward over the wall, though his face had gone noticeably pale. There was a long, frozen moment, and finally with a gesture the leader of the Wingly envoy ordered his soldiers back, not high-ranking enough to give the order to attack even after this provocation.

"You'll answer for this!" the distraught messenger in front of them sobbed, ruby eyes gazing with terror up at the torchlit Humans silhouetted above. "You fools, you'll answer for this!"

Most of the soldiers were motionless, as commanded, and Rose whirled around, looking for the one who'd fired. However, she didn't have to look very far, finding Kanzas standing just behind a stunned and pale archer with a small, satisfied smile on his shadowed face.

"My god, Sage!" another soldier whispered, though his voice was very audible in the silence. "Sage, why did you-?"

"It-it was my order," the young archer answered hesitantly, still holding the bow almost awkwardly out in front of him, his other hand still poised as if to pull back the string.

"Kanzas!" Rose shouted angrily; he shrugged, leaving the soldier behind and strolling casually toward them, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Shirley shook her head. "You ordered this?" she demanded, horrified.

Kanzas gave her a sardonic look. _Well, it wasn't like _you _were gonna do it,_ he thought at her. He waved his hand dismissively, ignoring the others, though inwardly he felt rather pleased by their distress. "What, you _wanted_ to listen to more of that shit?" he asked bitingly. "You were just going to refuse everything anyway!"

"There's no time for this," Zieg muttered tersely, the grim tone of his voice silencing the retort Rose was about to air. "We have to prepare for a fight here!"

"It's all your fault!" the hysterical Wingly below them screamed up, noticing their attention was back on him now. "You could have given up peacefully! When Magrad's destroyed, when your _stupid_ 'empire' is dust, all Humans will look to you _barbarians_ and say it's all your-"

There was a loud thunk, and the messenger stared with wide, wide eyes at the huge carved spear that was now quivering upright in the snow, embedded into the frozen ground just between his legs. Syuveil glared down at him, his green eyes hidden behind his glasses which reflected the magical lights of the soldiers behind the noble. "I think not," he hissed angrily, the wings of the Jade Dragoon armor flapping slowly behind him.

Sudden cries came from the soldiers as a dark shape passed directly over their heads; the Dragoons turned as Damia leapt from the back of her dragon, stumbling into a landing and catching herself with her hands. Syuveil's dragon was another mere shadow in the night, his weight crunching down snow just to the side of the city's walls.

Damia's face looked very white in the dim light as she straightened and hurried over to them, reaching to grab hold of Shirley's free hand with both of her own. "It's terrible!" she choked out, turning slightly to look down over the wall as well.

"What is?" the red-haired woman asked her, but she didn't respond, watching the scholar confronting the group below.

Breathing very fast, the Wingly messenger on the ground managed to squeak out, "Your threats won't-"

"My threats won't change the fact that Magrad's already being attacked?" Syuveil shouted back at him, reaching for his spear and tearing it from the ground as the silver-haired man tried to drag himself backward. "Admit it! Admit that Faust has been burning the fort since before you even got here! You're killing our people no matter if we'd surrendered or not!"

Damia shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. "That flying tower again!" she told them quickly. "We saw it destroying everything, just like in the mountains! All those soldiers are going to die!"

"What? Flanvel!" Belzac gasped, horror and disbelief warring on his expression. _She's right, no one's going to make it! _"Zieg, we have to do something!"

"I know," he replied darkly, "but any moment now things are going to explode down there! That envoy's small, but they'll still be able to decimate the soldiers with magic before they get close enough for our archers to pick them off!"

Kanzas frowned. "Then _we_ get them first."

"But the battery-" Rose began, gazing upward briefly; her gesture reminded them that Diaz was still standing above, watching them. "This is the perfect opportunity to take down Flanvel, and we're all needed to fire it! We can't waste the time-"

"No one told me that!" the Violet Dragoon spat back at her. "Bah, I figured it was too big to work without magic-"

"Forget that," Belzac interjected, scrubbing his hands through his golden-brown hair agitatedly. "Whatever's going to happen, we need to summon our dragons from the border, now!"

As Syuveil and the messenger traded insults, Shirley stared down at the Wingly soldiers, who were obviously staying back because they were wary of the two large blue and green dragons that now watched them from their positions around the city. Whatever diplomacy could have gotten them earlier was long gone now. And Zieg, of course, was right - if it came to a fight with them, the soldiers, including her brothers, would have the worst of it.

Taking a moment to do as Belzac suggested and call for Eremi, she then squeezed Damia's chilly hand, leaning down slightly as the girl gave her a questioning look. "Speak with your dragon," she whispered. "Ask him to aim his magic at the Winglies down there, but don't cast, not yet."

"But-" she protested. However, the oddly emotionless tone of the other woman's voice made her change her mind, and she nodded, closing her eyes to concentrate.

Syuveil's anger was rising to the breaking point; the cowering Wingly was denying knowing anything about the attack on the fort, and the glimpse he'd seen of their soldiers trying desperately to fend off the assault, the sound of crumbling stone as the spells hit the walls, echoed fiercely in his mind. "Enough!" he shouted, swinging his weapon around, point down.

"Syuveil, no!" Rose screamed down at him, but her voice did nothing to stop him. The messenger thought past his fear and remembered his wings too late to avoid the downward thrust of the double-bladed spearhead through his chest, his scream tearing from his throat before it descended into a bloody gurgle and fell quiet in a matter of seconds.

There was no more holding back. The brown-haired Dragoon yanked his spear from the Wingly's body and glared back at the soldiers flying across from him, their commander shouting them into action. Flipping the reddened lance into both hands, he began calling on his power, a dark blue-green glow spreading its tendrils outward from his form.

Zieg's growl of frustration grew to a cry as he spun around, and the blonde man waved his arm, shouting, "Archers, ready!"

"Now, Damia," Shirley ordered quietly. When the girl hesitated, she repeated in a louder tone, "_Now_."

Syuveil watched the faint glow of sigils being traced, hoped that his charge would take him out of range of most of the spells as he streaked toward their casters. But, even as he flew, he could feel the sudden change in the air, and if he could notice a drop in temperature in _these_ already-freezing conditions, then something was definitely wrong.

He caught himself and made a quick arc upward, a wordless exclamation falling from his lips as the snow beneath the Wingly envoy gathered itself up into frosty pillars and slammed itself sideways into the soldiers. Ice climbed rapidly up over the large mound of snow, prismatic crystals twisting over each other like vines and culminating like a flower on top before the whole thing shattered, leaving only frozen bodies left scattered across the snowfields outside the city walls.

Gasping, the Jade Dragoon leaned backward in mid-flight, executing a kind of flip to bring himself back over the high wall. Letting himself relax, letting the dragon's power fade away in a burst of light, he turned his gaze toward the other six questioningly. "Damia," he said quietly as he approached, but the teal-haired girl didn't move, staring outward with a dull, fixed gaze. "Damia, you…"

"I told her to," Shirley interjected, the unusual fierceness in her voice making Syuveil recoil briefly. She too could not meet anyone's eyes, nor could she find it in herself to put her hand on Damia's shoulder, even though she desperately wanted to make some kind of apology. "A fight with even those few would sacrifice too many lives. It was the only way."

"Shirley…" Belzac began.

"Looks like you're toughening up after all, little warrior," Kanzas murmured to the young woman near her ear. Despite the noise around them, he knew she'd heard it, watching her back stiffen in anger, or maybe just shock.

He chuckled loudly, his hands laced behind his head as he looked back up toward the inner wall where Diaz had been standing, though if he was still there he was no longer visible. Around them the soldiers were talking loudly to each other, unable to believe what they'd seen, and his laugh was nearly lost in the sound.

Motion behind them forestalled any more discussion as a man from Diaz's guard came pounding up to the top of the wall. "The emperor wishes to you hurry to the spear-shooter right away!"

"Right," Zieg answered for them, gesturing for the others to follow. Rose was immediately at his side, Syuveil not long after, and Damia broke from her trance to follow him.

Belzac shook his head, eyes narrowed at Kanzas; although he hadn't heard what the bearded man had said to Shirley, he doubted he'd like it anyway if he knew what it was. "Come on," he told her, tugging at her shoulder. "Damia's not mad at you, I know it. She'll be fine." She nodded rather mechanically, first bending to pick up the arrow she'd let fall.

_Hurts, doesn't it, Shirley, thinking with your head instead of your too-kind heart._ Kanzas raised his eyebrow at her appraisingly, and she gave him a look so like hatred as to make no difference before turning sharply toward the stairs down from the wall. He shrugged, jogging past her and Belzac to catch up with the others - they could wallow together in their morals for all he cared right now.

The Dragoons hurried through the lower city streets and up slippery iced stairs, running toward the palace building, the center of all the construction activity of the past few days. The doors had already been thrown open for them, Diaz's guards to either side wide-eyed as they watched the group pass. Though Damia had been falling behind, Belzac slowed his pace to match hers, urging her forward and keeping her steady with a hand at her back.

There were more stairs inside, winding around toward the top and slowing them out of necessity; Shirley had to clutch at a stitch in her side, forcing her tired legs to keep moving her upward. The palace seemed almost torn apart by the spear-shooter's assembly, soldiers even now pushing blocks of stone through the halls, stepping aside to let them through.

She had no breath for speaking with, and so a voice up ahead, coming from the vicinity of the door to the platform room, startled the red-haired woman when it reached her ears.

"Goddamned Winglies, _here_-?"

She immediately recognized Kanzas' rasping tones and made an irritated noise through her teeth, arriving in the doorway in time to see the Violet Dragoon moving into an attack stance across from two figures, which were hidden from her view beneath long hooded cloaks. Behind her, Belzac stifled a curse, his expression dour.

"Halt, Kanzas," another voice broke in, and Diaz stood forward from the shadowy area near the far window cutout, moonlight falling on his curly hair. "I value your enthusiasm, but these are our allies, Novi and Tavia, from Ulara. I will have some words with you later."

"Oh, will you?" he hissed under his breath, reluctantly standing back, though he did not relax his clenched fists.

Rose's pale eyes glittered in warning behind him as she said quietly, "If you dare-"

Belzac put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it once in warning. "There is _no time_," he broke in, and with a scowl she fell silent. "Please," the half-Giganto said strongly, staring at the two cloaked figures, "tell us what to do."

First looking at Diaz for approval, they nodded silently to each other before reaching to push back the dark hoods shading their faces. They were indeed Winglies, their pale hair a vaguely purple hue, their features alike enough to label them as relatives. "Um, yes, hello," the young male, Novi, said, giving the group of distrustful Humans across from them a quick bow. "I guess we should get started, then?"

"Yes," Zieg said, nodding once. "All Charle's said is that we're supposed to help power the spear, but beyond that…"

"Well, it's simple, really," Tavia began, walking further into the chamber, near the windows, her long ruffled skirt rustling around her. She gestured to something set in the floor; seven colored discs, one in the symbolic color of each element, were arrayed in a semicircle at her feet. "These pads will collect your energy - oh, I'm so interested to see how much the dragon magic will affect the collection! - and when enough is gathered, it will propel the spear-"

Syuveil shook his head, intrigued. "The seven of us will be enough to allow it to fly as far as Magrad?"

"Oh, yes!" she replied, a grin on her face. "And further, certainly, upon impact with Flanvel!"

"You seem rather excited for talking about an attack on your own people," Rose put in dryly, crossing her arms in front of her as she also neared the windows.

"Our own species, perhaps," Novi answered, his gaze downcast, "but Faust and Melbu Frahma's followers… no, they are not our people. We are on your side."

His sister nodded, her smile grown wan. "They, and all the Winglies who blindly abide by them, must be stopped."

Diaz stepped forward, his dark-orange plate armor creaking metallically. He seemed more than recovered from the poisoning now, his voice strong as he announced emotively, "Now, my Dragoons. Our arrow shall not only shear the darkness that covers the earth, but also shear those corrupted hearts accustomed to being ruled."

"Yes, Emperor Diaz," Zieg murmured, raising his fist to his chest in a salute before moving to stand on the red-colored circle at the far side of the room. Slowly, one by one, the others followed, some like Damia more reluctant than the others, but as they stepped forward Kanzas felt himself going backward, biting his lip without noticing.

There was nothing different about this, though there had been eight then, the last one gray to signify the void, the lack of any element at all. Eight colored circles on the platform in a little row.

And every time, every time he'd had to stand on the purple circle, the magical energy streamed around him and took him to that black room with the frightening lights running all around, and then would come the sequence of spells, always different so he never knew which was coming, was it wind or fire or darkness or earth before they would heal the damage and do it again, testing and recording and the pattern of lights would swirl, swirl around, around around…

There was no reaction from the device as Shirley stepped nervously onto the gleaming white stone; she raised her head and turned, putting her free hand on her hip in exasperation as she saw the man backing away. _Why must you always cause some kind of scene? Can't you just _go along _with something for once?_ "Kanzas," she snapped, "come on, get over here! Every moment we waste here-"

He shook his head, halfway to the door already, ready to fling it open and run. Ha, weren't they going to be in for a surprise when they found it was all a trap? "If you think," he snarled back, "I'm going to go stand on some Wingly elemental transport pad because you or anyone else says so, then you are out of your mind!"

"Must I order you directly?" Diaz asked him quietly, stepping further forward. "We have no time to spare."

The young Wingly woman also came near, placing her hand solicitously on his forearm. "It's perfectly safe, I assure you. The stones simply collect power from your spirit, converting it to energy - there is only small discomfort involved-"

_'Tell me if there's any discomfort; we need to measure your current rate of magical resistance-'_

"You talk like Aglis!" he told Tavia in a dangerous tone, smacking her hand from his arm as if it burned. "Shut the hell up right now!" She cowered back unconsciously, pulling her hand close to her chest, her brother tugging her back a bit farther with his arm around her shoulder, scowling.

"Oh," Syuveil interjected in realization, "this _is_ about Aglis, isn't it?"

_He knows about that? _Shirley thought in surprise, looking to the man at her left. _Kanzas told Syuveil about Aglis? But- _She shook her head, reminding herself that she was angry with him, that it was hypocritical of him to taunt her about weakness and then hold them up with something like this. "Kanzas," she sighed, "this isn't the same thing!"

The bearded man gave them both a look of betrayal before his gaze drifted toward the rainbow of hues the others were waiting on. "Shut up!" he repeated, hating the fear these damn things were sparking in him, hating the way everyone was looking at him. It was worse than one of those damned terror spells that Winglies cast, and he had the sudden hilarious thought that maybe, if he found a purifying potion somewhere, it would dissipate the same as magic, too.

And then, lightly, a hand closed around his own; Kanzas looked down to see Damia standing there, staring up at him solemnly, her hammer held over one shoulder, her face framed by the green and white scarf wrapped around her neck. Oh, Divine Tree, but that understanding look in her eyes, so familiar-

"Come on," the twelve-year-old told him quietly, her high voice trembling in apprehension. "I'm scared, too, but _you_ wouldn't let them do anything to you, would you? Or any of us?"

He nodded vaguely, going along as she hesitantly began stepping backward, pulling him gently with her. "S'right, Jidena," he mumbled. "I can stand it if you can."

Shirley bit her lip, watching with slowly-lessening confusion, the others wondering how long the strange enchantment would last. However, he let himself be led all the way onto the pad, and Damia immediately let go, running around Rose to jump lightly onto the blue disc once more, drawing in a deep, nervous breath of air through her teeth.

Instantly, with all seven Dragoons standing on the array, the battery rumbled to life, the force of it shaking the palace building with a short tremor.

Kanzas winced in spite of himself, half-wondering how he'd gotten there, but instead of a flash of magic transporting him to some terrifying experiment chamber, he was merely surrounded by rays of violet light streaking upward in a pillar to the ceiling. The others in the line to his right stood in the middle of similar pillars, creating a spectrum of light.

There was, in fact, a little discomfort as their spirits were drained; it felt as though their energy was being taken, and as the glow grew brighter, the colors around them more vivid, the Dragoons looked like they were wilting in response, like a plant under too much sun.

Novi and Tavia had become distracted by a glowing panel set in the corner, watching its lights with Diaz silently observing from one side. Finally, the pale-haired man straightened, grinning. "Completely charged!" he announced, turning as the light died and they quickly stepped away from the magic stones.

"Now what?" Zieg asked intently, striding over to them quickly although his face had a rather gray cast to it. "Now it fires?"

"Unfortunately," the Wingly answered, looking down at his hands and fiddling with the buttons on the front of his coat, "it will take an hour for the battery device to absorb the energy into-"

Belzac shook his head hard, voicing the dismay of the others as he bent to pick up Damia, who was swaying dizzily. "An _hour_! What are we supposed to do if it takes an hour?"

"You must go to Magrad!" Diaz told them intently, hazel eyes narrowed. "You must hold Flanvel there until the spear can fire!"

"That's where it's aimed!" Tavia piped up. "The magic will guide it to its target, but if the tower comes any closer, or goes too far from the fortress, the arrow may go astray!"

The emperor nodded once, hard, in agreement. "Go!" he commanded. "You can hold Flanvel! We're depending on it!"

"Yes, sir!" Rose bit out, her brows knitting as she spun toward the window cutouts nearby, vaulting through despite her fatigue. Her dragon rose up before her as she called him, getting as close as possible to the edge of the platform, and she jumped the short distance down to his back, fastening herself on with the ropes; she could hear from inside, though faintly, the voices of the two Ularans bidding them good luck.

The others followed behind her as quickly as they could, their own vassal dragons arriving as commanded, the light of the unsetting moon glinting off scales, clusters of eyes gleaming brightly in the darkness, the soldiers below watching in awe.

Spreading out across the sky, the Dragoons flew south, attempting to use the rather short journey to regain their strength. Although many of them had been tired to begin with, they were now weary in spirit as well, which simply added to their general unhappiness about this upcoming battle. It didn't even take ten minutes to get there, though they could see long before they arrived what was waiting for them.

The sight that greeted them was the spectacle of the night sky raging over Magrad, surrounding the great spiral of the mobile fortress, Flanvel. As the dragons and their riders came swooping in from the north, the black clouds overhead parted as if in reaction to their arrival, spitting forth a gigantic ball of fire into their midst.

The Dragoons scattered to avoid the fireball as it descended almost majestically outside the fort, its heat as it slammed into the ground instantly turning snow to steam and dissolving layers of frozen dirt into a muddy quagmire. The outer wall buckled from the flames, but remained standing, though more of the curved spikes lining its top cracked and toppled haphazardly.

Clutching tightly to Michael's halter ropes as he twisted out of the way of the spell, her new saber unsheathed in her free hand, Rose let out a hiss of shock and anger, glaring at the tower when the dragon had righted himself again. "Faust!" she hissed. "Go on, hide away! Not much longer for you now!"

Michael, attuned to her feelings, let out a loud growl and reared back as if to fire his chest beam, but the dark-haired woman quickly thought to calm him, having learned that not only would his beam simply reflect off the tower's walls, but it would also leave him vulnerable to an attack. Instead, she urged him to fly higher, curving around in the opposite direction than most of the Dragoons were taking.

Watching the chaos below, she saw that several of the others had already transformed and parted from their vassal dragons in order to attack the unit of Wingly soldiers that always accompanied Flanvel's missions of destruction. Their role was to make sure that anyone not killed by Faust's amplified magic ended up dying anyway by the blade.

Rose scowled; though too high up to see clearly, she knew what was happening to the soldiers still trying to defend what had been her home. They were trapped now within its crumbling walls, the burning thatch of the buildings around them lighting the night. She glanced to her right and saw that Zieg still remained on Ember's back, hovering nearby, but it was impossible to exchange words while flying.

Rather annoyed that he was being so protective of her, she asked Michael to descend closer to the nearest group of Winglies, smirking at the thought of her fiancé's surprise as she streaked away, holding on tightly as the wind buffeted her slight form.

Claws out as the knot of enemies tried to scatter, the black dragon clipped through them, grasping with his reptilian feet, sprays of blood exploding from the shearing force. He let out a roar, as if pleased, and Rose smiled along with him vicariously.

But, as good as it was to take down these infamous killers of innocents, she knew that at any moment Faust would tire, as he always did, with such easy prey, and Flanvel would float away again. Magrad was already lost, but they had to prevent the tower going north to Vellweb no matter what it took. The magician was arrogant enough to ignore the Dragoons, knowing that even the magic of seven dragons couldn't harm the shield of the tower. How could they possibly keep him here for - what was it now? - three-quarters of an hour…?

Catching a glimpse of gold, the shimmer of Belzac's armor and his dragon's scales shooting by not far from her, Rose remembered his strange power from the fight in the valley; it was power strong enough to gather up the earth in a wave, to bury and kill a monster as large and strong as a dragon. His vassal dragon and his spirit, working together…

Yet she didn't know how he'd done it. It had been obvious that _he_ didn't even know what had triggered it himself. Was it the dragon, or was it the need of the Dragoon? "Michael," Rose decided to try, speaking aloud and thinking directly to him at the same time. "Please, let me borrow your power… to do what needs to be done!"

Her hand crept toward the dark-indigo orb at her collar, her pale face set in a stern, thoughtful expression which quickly faded away as she found that the touch of the spirit burned her fingers through the fabric of her gloves. A moment later she reached for it again, squeezing it tightly, unable to let go as its painful warmth spread through her.

Gritting her teeth, the Darkness Dragoon closed her pale blue eyes and concentrated on something, anything that would distract Faust and keep him above Magrad until his death could come flying through the sky.

* * *

Merely a streak of silver, Shirley leaned forward on Eremi's back, holding on tightly, feeling as though the strength of the wind pushing on her would blow her away from her vassal dragon at any moment. Next to her, in his Dragoon form, Belzac kept up with their rapid pace, flying as close as he could, his own dragon elsewhere in the city. 

They were flying low through the buildings - sometimes literally _through_ the buildings, as Eremi was too large to maneuver in such tight areas - searching for any signs of life. The White-Silver Dragoon had decided not to transform, not wanting to worry about spirit energy when she didn't have need of her magic yet.

Belzac shouted something at her, and though she couldn't hear him over the roar of the wind she nodded, watching where he was gesturing. Near Magrad's eastern wall, a handful of Human soldiers were trying to battle an even number of Winglies and obviously getting the worst of it. Stuck on the ground, they could only try to dodge helplessly as their enemies almost lazily cast spell after spell in their direction.

Suddenly, however, arrows began to fall on them, Shirley's hand whipping back to her quiver for dart after dart as her dragon loomed up over the suddenly frightened group, Eremi letting out a high-pitched growl and flaring her wings to appear more menacing. From behind the gauzy wings Belzac suddenly flew toward them, his enormous axe held in one hand. He dove through the Winglies, delivering a hack from one side to the other, turning to slash through armor and flesh with a speed incongruous with his size.

He was breathing quickly, however, from the strain of keeping himself moving so fast, blocking a sword strike with the handle of his axe before flipping it around in both hands to swing the blade forward, embedding it hard into a Wingly's side. It took some force to kick the body off the weapon, the rent edges of armor seizing onto the half-moon blade of the battleaxe, but he didn't worry about his back, knowing with simple confidence that Shirley and her arrows would protect him.

It had not taken long; the soldiers below were using the distraction to get back, some launching what bolts they had left at the remnants of their attackers. Belzac, feeling his spirit energy about to give out, lurched upward into the air, managing to make it to Eremi before his power failed. He just barely caught hold of one of the crisscrossing halter ropes with his free hand, the axe dangling from the other.

Carefully, as Eremi flew upward away from the wall again, Shirley leaned down to take it from him; she let out a grunt, barely able to lift it up out of the way of his head so that the half-Giganto could climb, hand over hand, up to the silvery dragon's back, securing himself behind her and retrieving his weapon.

Shirley, drawing back an arrow on the string, suddenly gasped, turning to watch a flicker of energy crawl up around the spiraled base of Flanvel Tower, growing in intensity as it reached the top. She ducked instinctively, covering her head as Faust from within his protective shell launched a stream of liquid fire up into the sky, aiming at someone, something out of sight beyond the walls.

_Why is he shooting at the sky?_ she wondered, twisting to try to see. All she could make out against the night sky was a dark figure, obviously a dragon - it was Rose, then. But what… was going on? She hadn't even moved to avoid the attack…

High above, there was a darkness arriving over Magrad, a swirling movement black against even the lightless horizon. Even as they watched, Michael spread his glowing golden wings, ducking his head on its long neck, and Rose, incredibly, stood up, reaching toward the sky.

The encroaching darkness flew toward her, surrounding her as she spread her arms to welcome it, and then rushed past with the flutter of hundreds of wings. Belzac gaped in awe, realizing what she had done - she had summoned a swarm of black dragons from the jungles of the Southlands, much smaller than their grand cousins, much more susceptible to the Dragoon's power.

She had transformed now, Michael spinning out from underneath her and diving toward the ground with a fierce roar, and she hung alone in the air, part of the darkness and yet separate from it, the green-gold film of her wings now deep indigo flame, her dark hair dancing around her head.

As if one, the black dragons flew straight at Flanvel Tower, covering it in a fluttering, constantly-moving shadow. They dived and clawed like angry bees, and though the shield around the massive flying tower crackled warningly, magic emanating from its fissures, they kept swirling about, returning to block it again.

Belzac nodded in approval, Shirley staring raptly upward at the sight. _Michael's power,_ he realized, remembering for himself how great the rush of energy had been when he had borrowed his own vassal's magic, how much he knew, suddenly, that he could accomplish. _The dragons will hold it there for the spear! Wonderful, Rose!_

Finally, however, he tore his eyes away and glanced down at Shirley. Feeling his movement behind her, she turned to look slightly and then nodded, knowing that there was still more to do. Moving catlike, Eremi whisked back around again, flying up over the burning fortress for a better vantage point.

Several minutes passed before the two caught sight of another battle. This one was taking place on some of Magrad's highest ground, the streets near the fortress's south end. There were only a few Humans left here, facing a much greater number of Winglies, and it was obvious they couldn't last much longer.

As they swooped down toward the struggling defenders, Belzac suddenly drew in a breath, putting his hand on Shirley's shoulder. "Look!" he shouted, pointing past her; she could barely hear him over the wind. "Look who's fighting down there-!"

_Lord Tibero!_ she thought as her heart leaped in her chest, recognizing him. _I was hoping he was all right!_ She nodded to let him know she'd seen the general, bringing her bow close to her. "I'll go; I can transform!" she cried, although he probably couldn't hear.

Pulling her legs from under the rope before he could argue with her, she called upon her Dragoon Spirit, the brightness of the light blinding Belzac for a moment. She felt the buoyant energy of the armor surrounding her, lifting her away from her dragon even as her friend reached out in a half-hearted attempt to pull her back. Instead, Shirley turned around to push her bow into his outstretched hand, giving him a quicksilver smile.

Flying down as fast as she could, Shirley winced as she saw the older man take a hard blow to his side, the blade of a Wingly sword drawn back from Tibero covered in blood. Letting her weight work for her, she drove down hard with her foot against the Wingly soldier's shoulder, shoving him back before hooking her hands under the general's arms and pulling him up with her.

He gasped, obviously startled, and she gritted her teeth a little. The Dragoon armor made her strength much more than it was normally, but she was still small, and Lord General Tibero was a rather large man. His face pale from loss of blood, and maybe fear he would never admit to, he remained still and silent, his tight grip around her shoulders betraying his uneasiness at finding himself suddenly flying.

Shirley was grateful to turn around and find that Belzac had called Gleam to his side; she hadn't been at all sure how Eremi would react to carrying three people at once. Nearly struggling to stay aloft, she brought the elder over to the golden dragon, gently letting him down onto Gleam's back.

Tibero looked less than thrilled, his long gray beard in the wind giving him the ruffled look of an angry boar as he immediately grabbed for the ropes like a lifeline. "Young lady!" he bellowed up to her irately.

She shook her head, bright red hair flying around her face, allowing herself a little amusement in the midst of this terrible tragedy, despite its inappropriateness. The others had fallen… but at least she had been able to save _someone_. "Don't worry, Lord General!" she called back, raising her hand, calling upon her magic. "I won't let you fall! Please, let me tend your wound, sir!" He finally gave her a stiff, unhappy nod, and she grinned. "Thank you! Moon… Light…!"

* * *

Only a few days ago, this square had been full of Humans, ten thousand soldiers in and around the city, clamoring for their emperor, for the clan leaders, for the Dragon Knights. And now, in the burning darkness, there was only death for those who had once cheered. 

What remained now of both the Wingly forces and Gloriano's soldiers were just scattered knots of resistance clashing together momentarily. Zieg and Syuveil, soaring into the square, hadn't been fast enough to help the men who had been fighting their flying adversaries.

Human arrows had taken down two Winglies before the archers had been killed, but there were three of the enemies left. Distracted by the sight of Rose hovering above, by the arrival of the swarm of black dragons, they were taken by surprise as Dragoons charged them. In an almost unconscious maneuver, the two separated the enemy group, Zieg shoving one back toward the now-crumbling statue of Diaz and Syuveil pushing the others in the opposite direction.

The fire elemental was not focusing completely on his fight, however, too concerned about Rose, trying to ignore the feeling that she needed him by her. "What is she _doing_?" Zieg muttered, glancing quickly upward before returning his attention to the Wingly in front of him, parrying a quick strike from the man's sword. She'd been protected on Michael's back before while she'd been hovering up there, apparently summoning those dragons; why had she transformed, then?

Keeping his worry in the forefront of his mind, he twisted upward, arcing back down and slamming his broadsword hard into the Wingly's shoulder joint, dark brown armor crumpling under the force of the blow. Pulling back, he delivered another hard slice before the man could react, driving the edge of the sword in deeply and hacking through where the armor had torn. The Wingly screamed as his arm was severed from his body in a rush of blood, remaining attached only by several trailing nerves and tendons.

"Syu!" he bellowed, spinning in mid-air as his opponent fell to the ground. "All right here? I need to go find Rose!"

"I'm fine!" he called back, whipping his spear in a wide circle to keep the two Winglies that faced him away. Zieg nodded and flew upward, nearly brushing past him as he went, but Syuveil kept his green gaze fixed on the soldiers to be careful.

Truthfully, he wasn't much concerned by the threat, as these Winglies were too used to destroying villages, Humans who couldn't fight back, much less fly around them and attack from above. Judging his distance, Syuveil kept moving, his vellum-white wings flapping hard as he shifted like his element, keeping out of the way of most of the spells or blows they could throw at him. Their usual repertoire of magic that immobilized or stunned a victim had no effect on an armored Dragoon.

There was a sudden cry from the darkness of the streets below, and then as he tried to move upward he felt himself being yanked hard back down, something pulling on his leg. Twisting to look at what held him - a simple rope with a slipknot, tightened now around his ankle - the man's lips curved in grudging acknowledgment of the new Wingly's ingenuity. "I shall have to remember this," he yelled down, "to teach our soldiers to use against you-"

Before he could swing the blade of his spear down to cut the rope, he saw a bright light from the corner of his eye and whipped his head to look up just as the magic sigil faded back into darkness, his two other opponents hovering in the air across from where he was stuck. "You won't remember anything, monster!" he heard a voice, not quite so distant now, cry back to him in Wingly.

Syuveil, wincing, crossed his arms to shield his face with no time to spare as a howl of air ruffled his hair upward. Stones began to fall from above, crashing and shattering around him; he felt like a kite in a gale, battered by their force, and then suddenly he was moving, dragged back and swung by the rope around his ankle.

A gasp tore from the young man's throat as he fought the momentum, his jaw tensed in preparation as he was slammed hard into the side of one of the fort's tiers, the walkway above him crumbling from the intensity of the impact. The gasp turned into a louder cry of pain as he both felt and heard the sharp snap of his arm breaking, pinned slightly behind him.

His vision blurred, his head pounding, Syuveil tried to stay awake as he was whipped back down to the stone of the square, as the skin of his face and upper arms was scraped open in the collision. There was blood coming from a tear in his scalp, trickling down into his ear now, and that sudden flash of light as his Dragoon form failed him, as even the flames from the roofs of the houses seemed to fade to blackness.

It hurt so much more now that his armor was gone; he felt the rope tighten around his leg again, the Wingly dragging him across the square again, and he couldn't even raise his head this time-

But there was a blur - and another blur, and someone's cry of pain, and the tension in the rope suddenly went slack. Syuveil heard a wet thud, the sound of something rather soft and mushy colliding with the ground nearby, and then an even brighter flash of blue right before his eyes.

"Oh, Syuveil!" Damia breathed, her tiny feet touching down as she ran out of spirit energy, having used it up in her attack. Kneeling, she quickly loosened the rope and pulled it away from his leg before lurching up to his side. "Syuveil, are you awake? Say something!"

He could barely force his lips to move, his head lolling to the side as she cautiously tried to shift him, straightening the bent wire frames of his glasses. "Watch out," the Jade Dragoon whispered. "More of them-"

"Kanzas is here too," she hastened to tell him, looking rather unusually glad of that for the moment. "He's-"

"Well, kid?" the man in question called down suddenly, his wings sending gusts of chill night air into their faces as he drew near, his eyes narrowed on the two Winglies left above. "He alive?"

She nodded, quickly amending, "Yes!", as his back was turned to her. Running her fingers gently through Syuveil's hair, she felt something wet and raised it to her lips almost automatically, tasting blood. "But you have to hurry!" she screamed back as Kanzas ascended again. "His head's bleeding!"

"Make him stay awake!" he bellowed back down, kicking off the remains of a crumbling wall to launch himself at the nearest Wingly soldier.

Her breath catching in fear, the teal-haired girl bent her head, waving her hand in front of Syuveil's eyes, hoping that the shadows cast by the tiered streets above them, by the broken statue that loomed over the square, would keep them hidden from Wingly eyes. "Syuveil," she repeated, her voice trembling, "you heard him! You have to stay awake! C'mon, say something to me!"

"Tired," he mumbled back, oblivious to the alarmed noise she made in response. There was the feeling of an insistent worried emotion in his head, Tsavor wondering what was wrong, but he didn't really feel like forming a response to his dragon either. "Lemme 'lone, Damia…"

"No!" she cried back, looking to the sky again, watching Kanzas grapple with the Wingly he'd grabbed hold of in his lunge.

The silver-haired soldier managed to break the Human's hold on him, though, shoving away from him to fly back toward his comrade. The Violet Dragoon growled, eyeing his new opponents closely in the moonlight that glinted off Flanvel above. The two Winglies before him called back and forth to each other in their own language, which Kanzas could only understand a few words of, but he knew they were planning to team up and attack with magic.

Well, so could he, having only recently transformed again before Damia had found him and begged him to come help Syuveil. He'd indulged her because it meant he could keep fighting, because thanks to the dragons they were running out of enemies and he could _not_ stop fighting, could _not_ allow himself to think about anything else. When there was only the rush of blood, the sound of screams, the pounding joy in his heart, then there was no room left for memories and fear.

Right now, however, Kanzas really wished he didn't have to worry about when he would lose his wings; it made the otherwise gratifying activity of killing Winglies much more complicated than he liked.

He raised his hand, letting the lightning crackle around his fingers, enjoying the gaping, scared expressions on the brown-armored soldiers' faces. There would come a time when they were used to the idea of Humans that could use magic, but… not yet.

Choosing one in particular, he watched as the ground began to glow beneath him, as the bolts of lightning struck from the sky, bright and blinding. From in the midst of the light there was a cry of pain, and before the pair of Winglies could react he dove in, his fists glowing with the same purple-white light. He dove inward, pounding the armored gauntlets into the stunned, crimson-eyed face, feeling bone break beneath his knuckles, armor denting under the force of his kicks, the battered body tumbling limply to the ground in unconsciousness.

Flying backward again, Kanzas flexed his fingers, gathering the energy that had clung to his hands, driving it into a vaguely round shape, and with a loud cry of exultation he let it go, streaming downward to rumble around the fallen soldier. It grew upward into a dome, crackling and whirling with electricity and leaving the Wingly a corpse, blackened by the lightning he had made.

Letting out a loud laugh, he dropped back down to the ground, landing in a crouch and straightening as his armor dissipated, its power gone. He looked back upward immediately, searching out the last Wingly and trying to think of a way to get him to come down close enough to give him back his energy. However, the sky above the square contained only stars. _Flew off scared? _he thought skeptically, turning a little as he heard the unmistakable buzz of someone's energy wings nearby-

The same rope that had caught Syuveil now dropped around Kanzas' neck, its knot pulling tight as, with a sharp yank, the last Wingly flew upward into the air again. It happened faster than a blink - his feet had left the ground, it was tight, he couldn't breathe and he kicked and struggled though it was only drawing the rope tighter-

The Wingly above him, pulling on the other end, jerking him higher upward, shouted something down at him. Unhearing, he clawed at the rope, knowing that if his neck didn't break soon he would suffocate anyway, neatly garroted in midair. He tried to call for Taranis but he couldn't make the thought, and there was a roar like water in his ears, dark dark dark-

Something rushed by, ruffling his hair, and he could make out a hard thunk and another cry above him. A moment later he hit the stone, two more things landing heavily nearby. Ignoring the aching his entire left side was feeling from the impact, Kanzas pulled at the rope until it loosened, gasping for air, coughing to clear the tightness around his neck.

Through bleary, half-opened eyes, he watched as Damia walked past him slowly, leaning down once to pick up her hammer from where it had fallen after her throw. Methodically, as if she was following instructions written in the air in front of her, she raised her weapon and brought it down hard on the skull of the fallen Wingly who'd choked him, again and again until his forehead split, until the body stopped moving.

She was shuddering as she turned to walk back toward him, taking graceful little steps between the dead that lay scattered across the square, her ruby eyes hollow. The half-mermaid knelt next to him, putting her hand on his heaving shoulder, but he knocked it off awkwardly, pushing himself up with his unhurt arm.

"This is what I get for _helping_ people…" Kanzas sat up, rubbing his throat, brows knitting in a deep scowl. "Don't expect me to thank you," he hissed between deep breaths.

Damia shook her head, the barest hint of a sad smile on her lips, the few scales on her cheek glittering coldly. "I'm not stupid," she answered softly, gazing down at the bloodied hammer lying across her lap. She glanced over to where Syuveil laid, frowning. "I couldn't keep him awake," the girl muttered despairingly, but Kanzas wasn't listening to her; instead, he was looking back up at the sky.

The dragons that swarmed Flanvel had frozen in stillness as the indigo flame that consumed Rose's shape grew stronger, shooting upward around her, flickering as it seemed to absorb the darkness. There was a pinpoint of light just visible around the Darkness Dragoon's shape, steadily brightening.

"Look!" Damia gasped as she saw it, twisting her hand into the folds of Kanzas' cloak in order to steady herself as she half-rose from the ground. "That's-"

He nodded, watching the brightness growing in the sky to the north. "The spear!" he finished, his gaze jerking immediately back toward the gray mass of Flanvel Tower hanging above.

The lance was hurtling so fast it was merely a streak through the night, a rainbow stream of color behind it evidencing the powers that had set it in motion. High above the others in the sky, ignoring the shadowy fire that seemed to wreathe Rose's still form, Zieg wrapped his arms under hers, flying hard to drag her back out of the way of its passing.

He was barely in time as, punching through several of the black dragons, which were too big and slow to escape it, the spear - trailing blood and scaly gore now - slammed into Flanvel as though it had come from the heavens. The world ignited as the tower was knocked back, rocking Magrad with a deafening sonic boom as it disappeared from sight.

The explosion crashed through those who were left, the blast of air ripping thatch and tile from roofs and rolling corpses from where they lay, sending Dragoons and dragons alike plunging uncontrollably through the air. Damia, her small body tossed by the rush of wind, smashed backward hard into Kanzas' chest, letting out a sharp cry of pain.

Unable to see through the flash of light, he put his arms around her reflexively as he felt the shockwave knocking him away as well, the two of them and Syuveil thrown like debris across the statue square and into darkness…

* * *

It was a few days before the Dragoons returned to Magrad once more; snow was coming down heavily, blanketing the now-empty ruins as with a shroud. Parting with their vassal dragons some distance away, the seven of them approached the half-open main gates of the fortress, forced to climb across or down piles of stone, debris, buckled land that Flanvel's magic had blasted up from its resting place. 

None of them had escaped unscathed from the fight, though some like Syuveil had been hurt worse than the others, and although their wounds had since been healed they felt weak, dispirited. Destruction had even visited Vellweb, though briefly, as the launching of the spear had broken apart its rather hasty construction, sending pieces falling to the city below. It would be a while before it was repaired, although, as Belzac had pointed out, there wasn't really anything else they would be able to shoot at.

It had taken a day's rest before the Dragoons were ready to head out again and discover what had happened since their battle, since the explosion had knocked everything from the sky. Flanvel, blown back by the spear, had finally come to rest in the mountains; it had slammed into Kashua Pass and would remain there. If Faust or any other Wingly inside still lived, they were not showing themselves, and the tower was watched continuously.

However, it wasn't likely that any remained - only hours after it had fallen, the mobile fortress seemed to generate ice, as though the remnants of the magic that had powered it was reacting, gathering itself around the tower like a cocoon. The coldness seemed to be spreading throughout Gloriano from that point; the perpetual snowfall was thicker now, and the wind more chill. Even Kanzas was wearing sleeves on their scouting flight today, one of the too-big castoff tunics Zieg had given him.

The wrecked ghost of this fortress also seemed part of the reason. The howl of the wind through holes blasted in the walls sounded like a cry, the snow already burying it, the ground taking it back into itself. Shirley wanted to cover her ears, to block that sound out of her mind, but she forced herself not to, focusing on the snowy path downward.

"It sounds like screams," someone said. She'd expected it would have been Damia, but instead she recognized Rose's voice, the other woman's expression almost worried, her hand entwined with Zieg's for comfort.

The younger girl, on the other hand, was standing a bit apart from the others, her small features emotionless, her frame hidden in the layers of clothing she was wearing against the cold. Both Shirley and Belzac were worried about her, but she wasn't complaining, or even saying much of anything lately. However, that just added to the impression that something was wrong.

Zieg sighed, shaking his head, the hood of his cloak shading his face from view a little. "I just can't believe that we… had to sacrifice so many."

"We accomplished what we had to," Syuveil put in, though without much conviction. He pulled off his spectacles, using the edge of his brown and green cloak to clear fat, wet snowflakes from the lenses. "Without Flanvel, we will have a far greater chance of bringing down the other cities. They… they were soldiers. They knew what might happen."

"That doesn't excuse it," Shirley said tightly, sighing and giving the Jade Dragoon an apologetic look for the words that were not really meant for him. "Oh, I - I just hope they forgive us…"

With an exasperated noise, Kanzas started down toward the gate, turning halfway to call back, "Well, are you just going to hover on the doorstep all day?"

Hesitating, Belzac finally answered, "I don't think we should go in there."

"Why not?" the smaller man demanded, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrow in curiosity. "Afraid of _ghosts_?"

"You're one to talk!" Rose snapped at him. He snorted, raising his hand and cracking his knuckles in a taunting motion, and she stood away from Zieg suddenly, ignoring his soft murmur of protest.

Shirley glared at Kanzas; though she normally found it hard to carry a grudge, over the past few days he had constantly been able to keep her anger with him fueled. Her admonition, however, was stopped by Belzac's voice overriding hers as he spat tersely, "Just - stop. There's anger here, I can feel it, and - just stop, all right?"

The red-haired woman gave him a look, remembering that Gigantos were known to be able to sense the emotions of creatures around them. Belzac had never been able to in the same way, thanks to his Human side, but ever since they were children he'd shown occasional flashes of intuition like this. She could very easily believe right now that he could feel anger emanating from Fort Magrad, and shuddered at that thought.

"There's nothing left here," Zieg said quietly. "No one. And no one will return to this place of death. This is as good a tomb as any we can give them in the spring. I think we should go."

Exhaling hard, his breath like smoke in the cold air, Kanzas spun around and went toward the gates anyway. However, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, his head turning as he looked over at something next to the path. "Well, someone's been here since then," he said, mostly to himself. "Hey!" the man shouted back. "Someone who can read this crap, come here!"

Slowly, the others joined him, recognizing the kind of proclamation stone that had been placed near the gates. Belzac leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees to read the glowing green characters. "It's the same message repeated," he explained for the benefit of those that didn't know, "in the languages of Wingly, Human, and Giganto."

"What does it say?" Damia whispered near him, her voice soft and almost cracked, as if with disuse.

He put his arm around her shoulders, feeling her relax against him with a weary little sigh, and read, " 'The cursed land where the decline of the Winglies began. Nobody is allowed to touch the door. Judge Nomos of the Court of Zenebatos'."

"That doesn't make sense!" Zieg spat out to break the silence that descended, shaking his head. "Nomos - why would any Wingly declare… that this was the beginning of their _decline_?"

Syuveil looked thoughtful. "Nomos isn't a Wingly," he explained. "It's a Lapto - a magical construct made by the Winglies. A very complex Lapto, created to be completely impartial in order to dispense justice."

"Oh, yes," Kanzas drawled derisively, "very impartial, between Winglies. Against any other and it's quite quick to presume guilty, order executions. Ordered mine once, too. I don't believe this 'impartial'."

"Your execution?" Shirley asked despite herself, horrified.

He shrugged, smirking back at her. "Obviously, it never happened." She frowned at the look in his eyes, feeling that he was laughing at her reaction, and turned her head sharply, which only made his smile grow.

"At least we know the Winglies won't disturb it," Rose pointed out, not paying attention to the soft conversation.

Shirley nodded in agreement, clutching her arms as if hugging herself for warmth. "Let's do the same. Eremi's complaining about the cold… and I don't want to stay here anymore."

"Neither do I," Belzac said, gazing at Magrad's half-open entrance once more. Standing up and brushing the snow from his pants, he told Damia, "Come on… you don't look too well. I think you need some hot soup-"

"Thanks," she mumbled, going along as he gently started to lead her back to where the dragons waited impatiently, "but I'm just not hungry."

He frowned, pulling his gray hood up as a gust of snow-filled wind knocked it back. "Damia, you're looking thinner every day-"

"I'm _fine_, Belzac-"

The others followed after without further comment, mulling over the meaning of the proclamation stone and also hearing the same complaints from their dragons; the large reptiles hated the cold, and every moment waiting here made them a bit more ornery.

Picking her way back up after the others, Shirley scowled as Kanzas passed her and disappeared over the edge of the incline, jumping up the piles of debris with far too much energy. When she made it to the top, she found, however, that he was waiting for her, crouched down and rolling some snow into a ball between his hands.

He dropped it when she passed him, holding out his hand to stop her, but she brushed it away, intending to pass by. "Hey," Kanzas called, and she glared once more back at him. "Lemme talk to you, Shirley. It's been days, you can't still be mad-"

"Leave me alone," she snapped icily as she turned her back, her breath billowing visibly around her and making her words seem all the colder.

"Oh, that's nice," he sneered. "Go ahead, then. Hold a grudge over nothing."

Her shoulders tensed beneath the white folds of her cloak. "Nothing?" she repeated incredulously. "If you hadn't ordered that messenger shot, we could have just refused their demands and avoided that entire confrontation! All you did was make a terrible night even worse!"

Kanzas rolled his eyes. "What was wrong with how it went, anyway?" he demanded. "Not one Vellweb Human died, if you get over your righteousness long enough to remember! Don't tell me you wanted those Winglies' lives spared. Don't tell me that, because even _you_ aren't that damned foolish!"

"I-" Her voice trembled, and then she twisted to face him, brown eyes alight with anger, her hand whirling toward him. He raised his own to catch it, but she had already stopped herself before he could intercept the slap. Shirley stared at her hand as if it had betrayed her, slowly letting it fall again.

"I see," the bearded man murmured. "I see now. If _I_ hadn't made it necessary, _you_ wouldn't have had to order Damia to kill those Winglies." He turned his head, spitting derisively into the snow. "Don't make me responsible for your guilt, little girl. Your choices are your own."

The White-Silver Dragoon drew in a long breath between her teeth, unable to respond expect to repeat, once more, "Just leave me alone!"

"Gladly!" he shouted back, spinning to storm toward Taranis so fast that the edge of his cloak whipped her in the face.

Raising her hand to her cheek, Shirley stood in silence amidst the thick blowing flakes of snow, fighting back the tears until everyone had long gone out of sight.


	12. Chapter Twelve

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter Twelve

Belzac had not often questioned the will of Soa, the destinies that had been laid out for everyone long before their births - but he was having reservations about it now. Lately, he was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of including Damia in their battles. No matter how he told himself she'd been chosen, somehow all he could think of was the memory of her widened eyes and pinpoint pupils as she slammed her hammer down-

He frowned as he continued up the twisting stairs to the upper city, as unchallenged as ever, toward the tower ring above. _So strange to think of this as home now,_ he thought randomly, pale eyes flicking toward the golden-stone dome that capped his tower, finally finished. It didn't really seem his place to live here so high above everyone, so… out of reach and unapproachable. He knew Diaz's penchant for drama, for the need to show that Humans too could build as grandly, live as grandly as their former masters, but he didn't necessarily like it.

However, as seemed so common when he came up here, it wasn't his tower he was aiming toward. He'd been searching for Damia most of the morning, and had finally found a guard who'd seen her slowly, fearfully climbing the stairs upward. She was likely in her own room, and he had decided it was worth the time going up here to find out if it was true. As he turned onto the circular walkway, cold wind buffeted him strongly, knocking the gray hood from his hair and blowing his cloak so hard to the side that he nearly lost his balance.

Stumbling to catch himself, Belzac was surprised to see a figure stand suddenly from the chill snowy shadows surrounding his destination, the young girl reaching out her hand as if she could do one thing to steady him. He hurried to meet her so she wouldn't have to come out into the wind herself, replying to her worried expression with a quick grin.

It didn't seem to help much, though, as she caught his forearm in both of her small hands, gasping out, "Belzac, I thought you would fall!"

_Of course - that was how it happened, wasn't it? How she became a Dragoon…_ And now she had to live up here, hoping every time she passed that she wouldn't fall again. He put his hand on her shoulder, shaking his head. Damn it, now he had one more thing to add to his list of doubts. "It's all right. What are you doing out here?"

An odd mixture of emotions flashed across her face that he couldn't exactly define, excitement mixed with guilt. Suddenly, as if she had something to hide, she quickly raised her arm and blurted, "Look, I just found this on my door handle." Dangling from her wrist was a single long auger seashell; a hole had been bored through its wider edge, through which was looped a sinew. It shimmered a little in the shade, a pale pearly white streaked with pink.

Belzac knew she'd been sitting there a while from the chill of her blue wrap beneath his fingers, but he chose not to say anything, inspecting the shell briefly. "Very pretty. Do you know who left it?"

"Nuh-uh. But… it's really nice. It reminds me of home. Old, old home, I mean." She shook her head hard, drawing the auger back to clasp it with her other hand against her. When the motion caught the gusts and made her teal hair fly away from her face, she reached to pat it back down again.

He raised an eyebrow inwardly, noticing that she was trying to cover both sides of her face now and wondering how long it would last before she realized she couldn't hide her scales anymore. "Maybe you have an admirer," he suggested lightly, his smile growing as he saw the way her eyes brightened.

"Don't be silly," she murmured softly, giving him a shy gaze before it shifted to the tower next to hers, white marble shining on the dome above. "Are… are you looking for Shirley, then, Belzac? Because I don't think she's here. I think… she needs to be cheered up."

The half-Giganto sighed, shaking his head as he crouched down next to the girl. Shirley's current unhappiness was another matter, but, despite how the uncharitable thought stung, he had decided that perhaps she had brought it on herself, and she could wait. "I think she does," he agreed, "but not right now. I came up to talk to you, actually."

"Talk to me?" she echoed, raising her eyebrows in a look that was a bit less innocent than intended. "What about?"

He blew out a breath, watching it mist about before glancing toward her door. "Well, before that - Damia, why have you been sitting outside? Is there something wrong with your room?"

The girl shook her head quickly. "No, nothing _wrong_…" She pursed her lips, staring down at her feet. "I just… well… I…" She swallowed hard before reaching for the handle, pressing down the latch. "Just come see it." She stood aside as she swung the door open, letting him go ahead to close the door behind them against the cold.

An unusual feeling of warmth and humidity enveloped him as he stepped inside the tower room, eyes widening in surprise as he realized it was because the place was full of water. The fires in the tower's base had warmed it pleasantly, reminding him a little of a bathhouse in summer. It pooled over tiles pattered in white, red and blue, and the faint wintery light from outside danced across the little ripples.

A large white stone fountain was set in the middle; more water trickled from the swirl-carved basin at its top in little rivulets down the supports into another basin, and inside seemed to be a platform, probably her bed. At the back of the room, the water pooled even deeper, tumbling into the depths in a kind of controlled waterfall. Another little platform, submerged within the shadows back there, served as a base for a pillar resembling the trunk of the Divine Tree.

_The water cycles around, _he noticed, almost taking a step forward and into it. _Pouring and renewing itself…_ "How did they do this?" Belzac breathed in wonder, turning on the little landing to take in the whole thing.

Her voice sounded thick with tears as she managed to say, "I didn't ask them to - I just said - I wish I could have water in my room, since we aren't by the sea-"

He knelt down to be closer to her level, gently reaching to brush the tears, and her trailing hair, away from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "It's beautiful," he said quietly. "The builders made my room nicer than I could ever have asked for, also. They respect us for what we can do…"

She shuddered, raising her hands to hide her face, unable to meet his gaze. "That's the problem!" she wailed, resisting the urge to just throw herself into his arms, sob against his shoulder like a child. "They made all this for me, and - and - and _look at me_!"

"Damia," he whispered, squeezing her small shoulder. "I am, and I see someone who deserves all the respect she's given."

"Stop saying such nice things!" the half-mermaid choked, pulling away from him and splashing out toward the middle of the room, the oiled leather of her boots repelling the water. "Y-you're just here because you think I'm getting sick, that the fighting scares me! And it does," she finished in a much lower tone, wrapping her arms around herself.

"You know," Belzac said softly, shifting to sit down on the tiled platform, "it's nothing to be ashamed of. Sometimes I can… still see the face of the first man I killed."

He sighed, resting his chin in his hand and watching the gentle ripples of the water as she slowly turned and walked back through the shallow pool toward him. It had happened on his first trip after being freed, traveling to Gloriano with Shirley and his mother. A bandit had attacked them out of desperation, and out of the same desperation to protect those he loved, Belzac had bludgeoned him to death with his mother's cast-iron frying pan, which had been in the fire at the time and the closest thing at hand. He'd been, what was it, eighteen…?

Damia sat down next to the man, leaning her head against his arm as if exhausted and breaking him from the memory. "Me too," she confessed. "All of them, when I try to sleep. And it's never going to go away?"

"I don't think it ever does," he answered sadly. _I don't think even Kanzas, damn him, can forget quite so easily._ "But it doesn't always have to haunt you like this."

Making a sound like a half-whine, she bent forward to trail her fingers into the water where it lapped against the edge of the stair. "When Syuveil and I were flying over Magrad… when we saw the tower there and how it was shooting magic at the soldiers. I knew we had to go back to get everyone, that we couldn't help them all alone. But…" She stopped again for a moment, trying to calm the waver in her voice. "Did you know, we were down low and I could hear them, and when they saw us they were cheering and - and when we flew away again, do you think they hated us for leaving them?"

He closed his eyes, wishing he could tell her no, yet he couldn't help but remember the feeling he'd gotten from the fort, that clinging sense of anger, of loathing… and he knew that she knew that as well. "Would it have been better if you and Syuveil had died defending them, then?" Belzac asked her seriously and a little sternly. "Would it have done anything except, perhaps, easing your conscience?"

"That's not fair," she gritted, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"But it's something we all have to think about," he pressed. "No life is worth throwing away. But when you have a hard choice to make, sometimes you have to think about what will be best in the long run - and that's why Syuveil had you come back to Vellweb." He paused, trying to decide how to say it, knowing that he couldn't avoid the subject anymore. "Damia… when we… _subjugate_ Mekadris, I would like it if you stayed here."

The girl turned quickly to look at him, her brows knitting. "What do you mean, stay here? I can fight too - you know I can, Belzac!"

"Yes, I know," he tried to soothe her quickly as she leaped to her feet, glaring down at him. "I know you can fight. But I can see what these last two battles have done to you, and I don't think you're-"

"I'm _fine_!" she shouted, her fists clenched in anger, but he was used to outbursts in the middles of lectures and went on, unperturbed.

"-I don't think you're in good enough shape for another right now," Belzac finished, hardening his heart to the look of betrayal on her pale face. "Look, we don't expect you to like killing - oh, Soa, I don't want that! But as long as it's affecting you - then you should stay here until you've come to terms with it. Work on your training until you're ready."

Suddenly turning her back to him, Damia reached with her other hand to trace the contours of the shell hanging from her wrist, shoulders shaking as she fought back more tears. "Is… is that an order, Belzac?" she forced out.

"…No," he returned, getting slowly to his feet. "No, it's not. But… I can have it made one, if it's necessary." Another sob escaped, half cut off, and he sighed. "You _are_ a Dragoon… not one of my children. And I wish it hadn't happened that way. I'm sorry, Damia." As he expected, she didn't answer, and he reached for the door handle, hurrying to leave before he had to hear the sound of her crying.

* * *

This moment was one of many that Leki had been dreading ever since the terrible day of his sudden promotion. The time that had passed since then was not time enough to get used to all the sudden new responsibilities that had been dropped in his lap, and it seemed as though he'd barely returned to Zenebatos and taken up his duties before he'd been summoned back again. 

Today, apparently, he and the other three Overseers were going to meet with Frahma about the growing threat of the Humans and the dragons. He had made sure to arrive early, so as not to risk his lord's ire, and was once again waiting in the drawing room the same as he had before.

Before he'd been told… Leki repressed a sigh once again at the thought of his new position, his new home - and his new wife. Once she was the Lady of the Twin Palace, once a serene and happy woman whom he'd admired, and as a 'reward' for his loyalty, Frahma had had her husband assassinated and handed her off to him without a second thought. Now, because he'd mentioned he enjoyed her company, she was Vairi Bardel, Lady of Zenebatos… and completely miserable.

He still wasn't able to look her in the eye.

Rubbing his temples slightly, he leaned forward on the couch. There was also the matter of the laws and the trials, the very heart of the city he now ruled. Though perhaps ruled wasn't the right word, now that he thought about it. Nomos, as he was created to do, dispensed justice without any input from _him_, and then there were those three winged executioners… they each appeared Human, in a strange way, but they had so obviously been altered. No, he couldn't control them, no more than he could control any but the servants, the functionaries…

Letting out a sigh, the young man uncurled and sank back against the cushions, glancing once more toward the closed doors on either side of the room. No one, still. Maybe the other Overseers weren't going to be brought in here to wait for the audience with Frahma after all?

After all, a little voice in the back of his head muttered to him, the last thing Frahma would want, after Faust's treachery, was for his other lords to have a chance to plot against him. As soon as he even thought it, however, Leki felt ashamed of the very idea. Of course that wasn't the reason. Perhaps he was just very early?

He ran his hands back through platinum waves of hair, fidgeting on the couch for several minutes more before the soft sound of the opening door startled him into turning around. A Human slave was slipping back into the drawing room on the far side, eyes cast down respectfully - or fearfully - as he stated, "Overseer, Lord Frahma will have your presence now."

He stood up with a nod, straightening his new, fine and rather uncomfortable coat, and the Human ran in a sort of crouching lope toward the other door, attempting to keep his head lower than the Wingly man's. Leki took a deep breath as he walked after him, trying not to remember what he'd been forced to do the last time he'd gone inside the throne room. With all luck, his loyalty would not be tested yet again today.

And, as soon as he'd stepped through, he blinked, swallowing hard, his hands clenching briefly as he calmed himself. Two other men stood waiting in front of Frahma on the throne, and at the sound of his boots clicking across the black-marble tiles, they both turned to look at him, giving him scrutinizing glances he did his best not to rudely return. One was an older man with a long silvery beard, and the other rather younger, almost brashly handsome, a sort of sneer in his eyes as he watched the new Overseer's approach.

Frahma, fingers steepled before him, did nothing more than nod slightly at his entrance, waiting until he'd crossed the long floor of the throne room before saying dryly, "And now our council is nearly complete. Leki Bardel, Overseer of Zenebatos," he announced, apparently introducing them. "Teofilo Otakar, Overseer of Aglis." A curt wave pointed out the older man at this; he merely gave Leki a nod of his own in return. "And Brennan Sumati, Overseer of the Crystal Palace."

As his name was said, the younger Wingly grinned, reaching out to grasp Leki's hand in both of his own, shaking it repeatedly with a grip almost too firm. "Ah, so _you're_ the loyal little soldier we've heard so much about. How's the noble life treating you, eh? Make any new laws lately?"

He stammered something to that, taken aback by Brennan's enthusiasm, and a moment later his numbed hand was released, another insincere grin spreading across the other man's face as Teofilo cleared his throat pointedly, idly smoothing his beard with his palm. "If you're quite finished, Lord Sumati, Lord Bardel," the magician said in a dry, papery voice, "perhaps we can begin our council?"

Leki looked around quickly, seeing only the four of them present in the room, besides the usual Human slaves waiting by the doors. Confused, he dared to say, "But - this isn't everyone?"

Ignoring him, Frahma inclined his head. "Yes. I believe we shall begin-"

A green teleportation globe set down suddenly in the midst of them, and as it dissipated a smell of must, of old mold, seemed to waft into the throne room, clinging to the Wingly woman who had just arrived.

"-right now," he finished, just a hint of amusement in his voice.

The two other men each took an unconscious step away from the newcomer, but Leki, on the other hand, was merely curious about the Overseer of Mayfil - until she turned to face them.

She stood thin-limbed and pale, her long, long silver hair gathered into two tails on the top of her head; a length of white fabric draped haphazardly around her was a mere concession to the modesty of others. Despite the bared flesh, despite the rudeness of it, he could only stare in horror at her face, at the eyeballs that seemed turned backwards with no iris or pupil present, at full lips sewn tightly closed with a twisted black cord.

The woman met his gaze for a moment, and he shuddered, falling backward as she turned abruptly to walk toward the throne. Skin flashing at them from beneath the meager drape, she raised one hand almost absently to stroke the dark, crouching thing that clung to her shoulder, its claws driven deep through the skin. Dark trails of old blood down her back gave evidence to the fact that this was nothing out of the ordinary.

As the woman climbed the steps, extending her hand calmly to Frahma, Leki whispered, barely aloud, "Who is _that_…?"

"Overseer Ieo," Brennan answered in an undertone, his teeth bared in a wince although he was obviously trying to hide his disgust. "She consorts with the Devildom-"

"She's hideous," he murmured back, watching as their ruler took the woman's outstretched hand and kissed the back of it, aqua eyes hooded as he looked up at her.

She drew it back in another smooth motion, turning her blind gaze toward them as she remained standing there, one step below the throne on the dais. No one made any move to introduce Leki to her, the silence holding for a moment before Frahma leaned forward again. "Now, the matter at hand, my Overseers - the warmongering of the Humans and the dragons."

No one made any move to comment, waiting to be given permission to speak. Of course, one never interrupted Melbu Frahma. His cold stare flicked across them briefly before he continued, "As you are no doubt aware by now, the mobile fortress Flanvel has fallen to the combined efforts of the Human 'empire', the dragon-abominations, and our own treacherous kin."

Leki fought back a deep breath at that. Indeed, the people in Zenebatos seemed more uneasy than usual, though the approved rumors had begun and had been spread - that Faust had brought it on himself, that he had planned to overthrow Frahma and had met his reward. He couldn't help but think, however, that this didn't address the fact that the Humans had managed not only to get past the tower's magical defenses, but also knock it miles and miles southeast…

"This has the unfortunate consequence of leaving our cities unprotected," Frahma went on. "It is, of course, your responsibility to ensure the safety of our people. If the Humans wish a war," he finished in a dark tone, "they shall certainly have one."

Silence filled the room after this, the Overseers mulling over the implications of the thought of a true war against the Humans. Finally, however, the dark shape crouched upon Ieo's shoulder shifted a bit, catching the Wingly lord's gaze. "Speak, Zackwell," the gray-skinned man said curtly, to Leki's surprise apparently addressing the creature.

Clenching his fists at his sides to control himself, Leki nonetheless couldn't keep his eyes from widening as the shape stretched upward, taking on a rather spider-like form, the claws that dug into the woman's back and shoulder now attached to four thin, spindly legs. "Mistress believes they will attack Mayfil first of all, my lord," it said in a clear male voice, though a sort of hissing undertone sounded with it. "The Humans are terrified of it."

The devil was speaking for her because of her sewn lips, the young Wingly realized, suppressing a shudder as he thought of just how Ieo had bound herself to the Devildom to which she was in charge of delivering souls. He too was not at all at ease with the Death City, but he wasn't about to let this show right now.

Though the disgust from the other two men was unmistakable, Frahma remained unperturbed, making a noise of agreement. "Of the sky cities, yes, they will attack Mayfil first, though their next target will be the Slave City Mekadris. We need not devote any resources to its protection."

Leki nodded at this, looking down and letting his hair hide the nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead. It made sense tactically - being grounded, that city was the easiest to take, and the Humans would attack it if only to hinder the slave trade. Though he desperately wanted to object to the fact that those living there might be sacrificed, if not given warning, he kept silent, listening to his ruler as he went on.

"The defense of Mayfil is of the utmost priority. Overseer Ieo, your thoughts."

The strange woman kept her white eyes fixed on Frahma as the devil on her shoulder spoke the response. "They will send their seven Dragoons, Lord Frahma. As they are the ones who control the dragons, who in concert have proven so effective against us, they are also the key to the Humans' downfall."

A tension arose at that reminder of previous Human victories, and Leki flushed in embarrassment at the memory of his own army decimated so easily. The lord, however, oddly seemed to take no offense at this, regarding her evenly. "Explain how you will stop them."

"Souls with attachments to the living remain in Mayfil, if the bond is strong," Zackwell elaborated for his mistress. "The freeman, the Giganto, the first chosen, the scholar, the Loreley, your stolen slave, the Aglis survivor - all should have such attachments to souls in our care. They will be easily reanimated and manipulated to the desired effect."

At the mention of his city, Teofilo shifted a bit where he stood, reaching to stroke his beard thoughtfully as he remembered a certain incident. Brennan, on the other hand, made a scoffing noise, muttering under his breath, "They just need a Mininto to complete the menagerie, don't they?"

Frahma nodded toward the woman and her servant, seemingly ignoring the responses of the other Overseers. "Very well. You may begin the preparations."

"As you command," Zackwell answered. In response, Ieo almost languidly lifted one hand, the devil reaching to cling to it as it passed, moving from her bloodstained shoulder. With a flicking motion, she tossed the little dark thing into the air, where it vanished in a flash of teleporting light.

Their ruler turned cold eyes back to the others and said, "Now, Overseer Sumati, you wished to address the current difficulties you are experiencing in the region of the Birth City?"

For once, Leki felt a brief rush of satisfaction at the odd Wingly's words, watching Brennan's confidence crack as he fought to control his surprise. "Difficulties - oh, er, yes, my lord, I _had_ thought to address-" He paused a moment to clear his throat before tucking his hands behind his back again. "It's about the Divine Dragon, my lord."

Frahma allowed himself a thin smirk at his own prescience, threading his hands together with his elbows resting on the arms of the throne. "To call such a creature 'divine' is merely a commoner's superstition, Overseer," he murmured dryly. "But no matter. Do tell me, what of this dragon?"

"To speak frankly, sir," he began, "the Humans and their own damn beasts have got it all stirred up. Used to be you could count on it sleeping for hundreds of years at a time, but lately it's been flying about more often than not, protecting its 'territory' or some damn thing."

"Ah, from the other dragons," he commented as though this was the first he'd heard of it.

Brennan shook his head, replying dourly, "Not just the other ones, my lord, though it'll go after them enough. No, it flies by the Birth City as if judging the defenses, though we were able to chase it away with the crystal beam. Attacked the troops, too, tore a path through-" he slowed, blinking in sudden realization, "-just as you read in the report…"

"And so I did," Frahma replied. Although she didn't make a sound, the posture of Ieo at his side clearly betrayed her amusement. "But fear not, good Overseer," he went on in mock-kindly tones, "the matter must be dealt with. It may attack randomly now, but we should not allow the possibility to arise that one of these dragon-men abominations may wrest it to their will."

The long-silent Overseer of Aglis finally spoke. "To that end, my lord," the old man said, "the anti-dragon items you ordered crafted are now nearing completion."

"Excellent." He smirked. "Bring them to me, Teofilo, and then we shall take care of this… difficulty. Does this satisfy you?"

Splotches of color arose on Brennan's face, but he managed a stiff nod in response. "…Yes, my lord."

"I'm quite pleased to hear that," Frahma answered, just this side of snidely. "Then let us make haste before the Humans find some other way to twist nature against us. I shall prepare certain other surprises for them as well. Now, if there are no further _difficulties_, this council is over."

The man didn't respond, having learned his lesson, but his face and ears were still a telltale angry red as he stood back. Leki, however, though keeping his head down, flicked his gaze up at their ruler and took a deep breath. "Forgive me, my lord, but - what might I do?" He didn't even know what he wanted to prove, but… there it was.

There was a brief moment of waiting silence, and then the gray-skinned Wingly smirked, flicking his fingers and disappearing in a flash of green, Ieo departing a few seconds later. Teofilo too had no words for him, merely making a pensive noise before vanishing as well.

The young Overseer stared at the empty throne in disbelief. What did that mean, anyway? He'd thought - well, it didn't matter, he was used to being low-ranking, but even so…

"Ah, don't fret, old boy," Brennan sighed, clapping him hard on the shoulder and startling him. "I mean, it's all really rather plain, isn't it? Someone like you made Overseer? Your job is to nod at the right time and do what you're told." Giving him a slight shove as he turned to walk away, the older man flashed a brief, knowing grin before raising his hand to trace the sigil of teleportation.

Leki sighed a little, lips twitching in brief petulance that quickly passed. The thought that he would much rather be back in the Zenebatos Watch flitted through his mind before he, too, cast the spell to take him on his way back 'home'.

* * *

Chunks of white marble crunched under the soles of her boots as Shirley stepped gingerly around what had once been the arch marking the entrance into the Mekadris slave market. The smell of smoke hung thickly in the warm morning air, making her raise her arm to her face as she coughed to try to clear her lungs of it. 

The battle, such as it was, had been over for a while now, but chaos still reigned in the remains of the ruined Slave City. Strangely enough, there wasn't much resistance from the Winglies who had lived and presided here, no forces but city guards who were easily overcome. The citizens who hadn't been able to escape had been turned on by their slaves, a situation which had quickly become ugly and was still only barely under control.

Occasionally, the sounds of raised voices caught her ears, soldiers shouting to each other across the buckled plaza. Others searched the rubble for survivors, pulling bodies and the occasional living person free of collapsed buildings, and still more fought to maintain order among slaves who had suddenly found themselves in the midst of a battle - but free.

Shirley kept her bow in her hands as she moved into the square, looking for where her assistance might be needed. She could pick out Belzac's familiar shape in the distance, though he was mostly obscured by the smoke and dust; Rose, Zieg and Syuveil were also about to help deal with the aftermath.

_We're lucky we didn't need all the Dragoons for this,_ she thought absently. With Damia told to stay behind, and Kanzas nowhere to be found, they'd been forced to go ahead with the attack with only five. That was worrying her more than she wanted to admit, even leaving aside her own feelings about it - Diaz had been rather angry when he found out that the Thunder Dragoon was missing, and she hadn't been able to tell their leader it was probably because he and she had fought.

Fine, then, if he wanted to be a child about it and storm off. She tossed her hair a bit, stepping down off broken stones into a relatively cleared area of the former markets. He'd be back, acting like nothing ever happened, and she'd just have to-

Sudden angry cries broke her out of her aggravated musing, and she spun toward their source, moving forward until she could see through the haze in the air. Several soldiers were trying to hold back what looked like the beginnings of a mob; they all seemed to be after one large man, who to Shirley's surprise was Human as well.

He clung, trembling, to Rose's leg before she gave him a look of disgust, kicking him off with her other foot. However, turning toward the group of former slaves, she brandished her sword to keep them back, a glare darkening her eyes. "What is the meaning of this?" As more and more people began to mass around them, Zieg came to her aid, standing with her between the crowd and their intended victim, his red tunic bright amongst the undyed clothes of the others.

Although many had only been able to arm themselves with kitchen knives, garden tools or even pieces of debris, several had come up with real weapons, taken from the bodies of their former Wingly owners. The drawn swords of the two Dragoons and the soldiers only made the mob hesitate a little. "Move aside! Let us have 'im!"

A rumble of agreement met this, and someone else shouted out, "The Wingly-lover's gotta pay!"

More loud, outraged roaring came from the crowd as they pressed forward. Swallowing hard, Shirley reached back for an arrow and set it to her bow, standing far enough away to have a good shot. If they came any closer to Rose and Zieg…

"Stop!" the blonde man shouted, scowling. "This makes you no better than they are!"

This too did little to halt the swarm of people intent on reaching the man cowering behind them. "Who's better, eh? He sold his own people to line his pockets!"

"No, no," the man protested, hiding his head with his arms.

"You know you did, Godon! Right up on the blocks!"

"Liar! You sold my brother! Bastard!"

"Kill him!" The roars, the shouts, increased substantially as the mob surged forward, perfectly ready to mow down the Gloriano soldiers, Zieg, and Rose in order to reach the man they were protecting.

Shirley was momentarily stunned as she recognized him as the same Human auctioneer who had presided over the sale of Kanzas, and felt a rush of relief that the other Dragoon hadn't been here after all. _He'd let them have him with his blessing-_

The large man let out a shriek of terror, lurching forward to hug onto Rose's leg again, one hand twisted in the hem of her long dark tunic. "Please, sir, lady, I beg you-!"

Badly-restrained anger crossed her face, and she jerked away from him violently, a burst of light streaming from the Dragoon Spirit at her chest to envelop her in a multicolored orb. Godon screamed, his cry echoed by others of alarm and awe, and when it dissipated the black-haired woman hung in the midst of the swarming crowd, the large wings of her armor flapping lazily. "Stop - this - _now_!"

Though Rose's words did not instantly cow the mob, they had indeed lost their urge to rush at the man now that a Dragoon was in the way. Those on the edges began to drift away, suddenly eager to be somewhere else, and with a deep sigh Shirley lowered her bow, letting the string go slack as the grumbling crowd slowly broke up, urged on by Zieg and the soldiers.

A deep frown on her face, Rose let go of her armor, an indigo glow shimmering as she was set back down on the ground, back to normal again. The auctioneer gibbered at her feet, bowing down low before her worshipfully and sobbing in relief. "Thank you, thank you, my lady, you saved my life-"

She exchanged looks with Zieg, who merely shrugged, before turning back to him, an odd expression on her face. "Get up," she snapped. "You - oh, I don't know." She then turned to a nearby soldier, gesturing to Godon. "Keep an eye on him. He'll have to go to Vellweb, I guess. I just never thought they'd…" The woman rubbed at her temples with gloved fingers as the stocky man was hauled up and ushered away, her fiancé putting a hand on her shoulder briefly.

With the situation defused and everyone drifting out of the slave markets, Shirley could see Belzac again; he had been on the other side of the crowd, attempting to control them as well. She frowned both thoughtfully and sadly, worried about him. There were no Human children in Mekadris under the age of ten, the Winglies in the city having forced obedience to Melbu Frahma's doctrine, and her friend had understandably not taken it well.

Although he seemed to have calmed down by now, she decided she still wanted to talk to him. However, before she could make a move to get his attention, Syuveil had approached the half-Giganto, his pale face stern and set.

She watched as he explained something, gesturing back the way he'd come, and then the two hurried off. Her curiosity piqued, she looked around to make sure there was nothing else requiring her attention before following after them, picking her way around more fallen rubble. No, between the five of them and their dragons, the Winglies here hadn't had a chance…

The two had come to a stop at the end of a street, in front of a large tree. Moving up behind Belzac as she shouldered her bow, the red-haired woman could only see the vague shapes of what they were looking at beneath it until she stepped around him, her hand instantly flying to her mouth in shock. Warm morning light filtered down through branches bare of leaves, casting dancing shadows over the hanging figures of seven Humans, each swaying gently at the end of a noose.

Hearing the soft gasp, Belzac turned away from the scene, slipping his arm around her shoulders and putting himself in the way of the sight once more. "Shirley," he began quietly, shaking his head, "you don't have to see this-"

"What happened?" she croaked, one hand twisting in the vest he wore over his coppery breastplate. Though the bodies weren't as… as _defiled_ as the ones she and Kanzas had found on the way to Kadessa, they held an equal horror. As she forced herself to peer around her friend, look closer, she could see blood spattered across the dry, cracked ground, smeared into misshapen letters. _'By the Wil of Soa'. 'Wingle Loverr'. 'Traytr'_.

Syuveil shook his head, rubbing at his chin, though his air of academic indifference couldn't mask the troubled look in his green eyes. "They likely tried to make their lives easier by assisting the slavers, never knowing the tide could turn."

"But - other Humans did that?" Shirley protested, halfheartedly trying to push aside Belzac's arm as she continued to stare at the lynched people. "That's not - that's not the way it-"

"You saw that mob, didn't you?" _They like to say we're meant to be peaceful, that they're meant to rule. But Winglies and… Dragoons aren't the only ones who are capable of something like this. This is no better than Frahma's- _Not voicing his thoughts further, the big man shook his head, finally letting her go. "Come on," he said briefly. "Let's get them down from there."

As Syuveil produced a dagger and began to cut the ropes, Belzac lifting down each corpse gently like a child in his muscular arms, Shirley took a few mindless steps backward, feeling both useless and stunned. Moving a bit jerkily, she turned to find some water to wash away the accusing words.

Surprisingly, it did not take long - warm water bubbled up from a rent in the buckled street nearby where some spell had smashed up the ground during the battle. Mekadris was not very far from the ocean at all, but this still seemed out of place. Right now, however, she wasn't going to question it. Finding the curved pieces of a broken jar nearby, she filled the largest one with the water and carried it back to the tree.

The water washed the blood away easily, the letters worked back into the ground as she turned the dirt. She pointedly ignored the grisly labor happening near where she knelt, the liquid muddying the knees of her white pants. Shirley wasn't aware of how much time passed, how long she sat there erasing the evidence of this great anger, before motion in the sky caught her attention.

The two men also looked up from where they were laying out the corpses as the form of a sea dragon, golden spray sparking from its wings, settled down in the square nearby; moments later, its small rider wriggled out from under the harness ropes. Stephen shifted impatiently, blue scales shimmering as he regarded the soldiers, civilians and prisoners with suspicion.

Looking around cautiously, Damia began to approach the other Dragoons, pausing only when she saw Rose and Zieg down another street and shyly gesturing for them to join her as well. "What?" Belzac murmured as they approached, hearing the sound of feet splashing into the water that was welling up into the street. "You weren't supposed to…"

The sight of the bodies lined up and the two still hanging gave the newcomers pause, and the girl looked away quickly, her face paler than normal as she refused to meet Belzac's eyes. "I - I was ordered to come here by Emperor Diaz," she explained nervously, fiddling with the end of her scarf, the curious eyes on her making her uneasy.

Zieg, his face screwed up in anger at the sight of the dead, nearly snapped, "Surely he doesn't think we can't be trusted with this!"

"No!" she hastened to reply, shaking her head hard and sending long teal hair flying. "No, it's not-" Turning quickly from the equally incensed look on Rose's face, she moved to where the White-Silver Dragoon knelt, grabbing up one of her muddy hands in both of her smaller ones. "I was sent to bring you, Shirley. They need you because Lady Mille is having her baby."

Syuveil's indrawn breath at that was sharp and audible even amongst the exclamations of the others, earning him some worried looks. However, he subsided without saying anything, adjusting his spectacles self-consciously and turning to stare off in a different direction, shoulders hunched beneath his cloak.

Coming out of her reverie, Shirley finally nodded, letting the half-mermaid drag her to her feet. "Yes, I… let's get going, Damia." She felt sudden pangs of nervousness, though she had assisted at the births of three of her younger siblings and countless farm animals. After all, so much depended on nothing going wrong, and thanks to the poison weakening both mother and child that would be rather unlikely.

"There's one more thing," the half-mermaid interjected, her fingers tightening briefly around the older woman's as she looked to the others. "Kanzas isn't back, and - and Emperor Diaz is - and he wants someone to find him and bring him back."

"I'll do it," Zieg said immediately, his gaze flicking to Rose and stalling her even as she opened her mouth. "Look, I haven't had a problem with him, so maybe I can get him to listen."

She glowered at him, shaking her head. "And if he's betrayed us? Don't trust-"

Blinking a bit guiltily, Shirley broke in, saying, "No, that's _not_ it-"

When the Red-Eye Dragoon began to answer back, Belzac overrode them all, his deep voice silencing them. "There's no time for this," he stated, quieting when they did. "Shirley and Damia need to get back to Vellweb, and there are still things to do here. Zieg can take care of it." _And he's the only one besides Syuveil who might not get into a brawl with that… man, _he finished silently. Syuveil, on the other hand, likely had a lot on his mind right now.

"Fine," Rose muttered, turning away with arms crossed to stare blandly at the two bodies left on the hanging tree. Wordlessly, Syuveil moved to continue taking them down, and after a moment she and Belzac went to help.

_It's as if she wants a chance to fight with him…_ Shirley sighed, full of even more worries now, and looked to the blonde man nearby. "Try using your spirit orb," she suggested wearily. "You can feel a sort of pull, if you focus, when you're near another Dragoon."

He nodded to that; the twelve-year-old quickly pulled Zieg aside to give him the whole of Diaz's message before hurrying back to Shirley, who was already calling for Eremi to return. In a matter of a few minutes, the three of them were on their way, leaving the ruined Slave City and the rest of the troubled Dragoons behind.

* * *

The sound of thunder rolled in the clear blue afternoon sky, the only sort of warning the village would receive. A young, barefoot Wingly girl, appearing all of seven years, looked up from where she sat on a clump of overgrown grass by the dirt road. "Huh," she said to herself thoughtfully, holding up the stick she was drawing in the dust with. 

The next thing she knew, someone was screaming. Twisting around in a frantic attempt to see what was happening, she clambered to her feet, eyes scanning the humble village quickly. Something dark passed overhead, and there was a flare of turquoise light close nearby, nearly blinding her as it slammed into the ground.

Curling up, hands clamped over her eyes as if that could protect them from the brightness that still filled her vision, the girl sobbed in fear. "Mama? Mama!"

Somewhere over the sound of her own frightened cries, she could hear the alarm suddenly being raised, warning of a dragon attack. There was so much noise, voices shouting and yelling, and punctuating it was another loud crack of magic sizzling through the air.

"Lenus! I'm here!" She heard the wonderful, worried voice in her ear, felt the arms suddenly around her dragging her up from the ground, and she clung to the woman in a death-grip as her mother's wings shot from her back, lifting them both from the ground as they started to flee the area.

Rubbing at her eyes with one hand, the girl was finally able to clear her vision enough to see the wooden houses along the street flash by her as they flew, and the occasional weapon-wielding man flying in the opposite direction. Being a poor, grounded Wingly community, they were used to fending off attacks from dragons - but there had always been more warning than _this_…

There was a great rush of wind, and then suddenly she could see only purple, shiny scales reflecting the sun. Lenus could feel her mother's hitched gasp as she fought to halt herself, letting out her own shriek as she clung to her neck. The spiky dragon had entered into a dive, crashing down through the dwellings just nearby with a loud wailing roar and sending wood and stone spraying through the air.

The force of the impact knocked fleeing Winglies from the air, the small pale-haired forms tossed aside like leaves in a gale and tumbling wildly. Though her mother had tried to use her body to protect her daughter, as they were thrown amidst the debris it did little use, coming to a rolling stop up against the crumbling remains of a stone wall.

Coughing dust from her lungs, the young girl pulled herself up to her knees, her entire body aching but nothing broken. The woman, however, had not been so fortunate, one leg beneath her tattered homespun skirt twisted at an unnatural angle. Teeth clenched in pain, she kept one hand wrapped around Lenus' wrist, struggling upright. "We must hide," she gritted out. "Look around-"

Dull-silver hair glinting as she twisted around frantically, the child looked for a hiding spot amidst the fallen remains of the homes. Used to playing hide-and-seek with her friends, she quickly located a hole in the rock pile, the entrance to a partially caved-in cellar. "This way, Mama," she squeaked, pulling at her, eyes fastened to the sky for any sign of the dragon.

The sounds of magic being cast were audible closer to the village center, guardsmen and family heads trying to protect their home. None of them were as strong in power as real soldiers, much less the magicians in the flying cities - most of the Winglies here had barely been allowed to be born. But, although they fought with the same grim desperation as any defender, it seemed as though the only sounds arising now were death cries.

Cringing as another glint of purple winged by overhead, the woman crouched in a shadow, pulling Lenus with her, trying to make herself smaller until it had passed. They crawled like worms through the dirt toward the hole, Lenus' mother struggling with her leg, until finally they reached its questionable safety.

The two clung together as blasts shook the ground outside, heads ducked against the little pebbles that fell from the debris above them. Though her head was hidden tightly against her chest, Lenus could feel her mother's movement as she kept looking around, trying to judge how far away, how close, what was happening out there beyond their vision.

"It's going to be all right," she whispered. "It's going to be all right…"

Suddenly, electricity seemed to fill the air, making their hair float up and tingling uncomfortably across their skin. A moment later there was a tremendous, shuddering boom as the dragonmagic hit just nearby, the collapsed house above the two Winglies trembling in response. More and more rocks began to tumble down into the little underground hollow, and before she even realized it the girl felt herself pushed away hard toward the opening leading upward. "_Run_-!"

Frightened, and confused as to why she'd been shoved out of hiding, Lenus turned halfway, seeing the motion of her mother's hands starting a spell, the sound of shifting rock loud in her ears. "Mama? What's going on? Mama? Mama-"

Inhaling dirt, she began to cough, unable to stop or do anything but simply stare as the house they'd been beneath shifted and fell with a rumble, as if dropped down, walls sagging and sliding into mere piles of wood and stone. Pelted by flying rocks, she scrambled away, still coughing, eyes wide in disbelief as she hid her face with her hands.

She remained still as the cloud of dust drifted over her, her coughing finally abating as it cleared, unable to wrap her mind around what had just occurred. Although it was slowly becoming clear, she somehow couldn't feel any franticness, any sudden urge to throw herself at the fallen house and try to dig her mother free - even then, she knew there was no way she could be all right.

In shock, and no longer caring what might happen to her if the dragon spotted her, Lenus soon found herself wondering why she couldn't hear any more noise coming from the other side of the rubble. Was it over? She dragged herself upright and started walking in the general direction of her home, ignoring the cuts and scrapes her bare feet were receiving, without the energy or will to summon her wings.

The packed earthen streets had been torn up by blasts, forcing her to circle around huge hills and craters where none had been before, the smell of smoke filling the air. As she neared what had once been the town green, voices came to her ears. Momentarily relieved, she moved faster, hurrying to find their owners - and then came to a stop when one became a quite audible scream that descended into a choking, wet gurgle and died away.

She climbed up some of the broken terrain, looking blankly out at the scene not far away. The corpses of men littered the ground, and among them moved a strange sight for these parts - a Human man wearing sleeveless black, clearly obvious from his coloring, so different from the pale silvery-haired Winglies.

Lenus watched, unblinking, as he lunged toward what seemed to be the last defender, kicking the collapsed man's chin upward with his foot before leaning in to drive his clawed fist into the neck. She stared at the spray of red that ensued, stared as she watched him laugh, her small hands clenching into fists of their own.

A flare of anger, like a brief candle, lit inside her. Was all this _his_ fault? She began moving forward steadily, sliding a bit down the other side of the hill. No one here had been rich enough, important enough, to even own a slave, but she knew how you were supposed to make them behave. Humans were weak, after all, and Winglies were just naturally better.

Reason diluted by her shock and grief, the girl stalked closer to the suddenly-still figure, who made no indication he noticed her. "Go away, Human!" Lenus shrieked in what she hoped was a scolding tone, her voice drying away as he whipped his head toward her. She tried to say more, but nothing else came except a scream as he lunged for her, catching her small throat in his bloody hand and lifting her from the ground.

The child's wings sparked from her back and fizzled away again erratically with the fear and adrenaline that coursed through her body, and he peered at her with amusement. "You think I'm Human?" he laughed, giving her a little shake. "No, no. I'm your Archangel…"

Red eyes widened at that, and with another laugh he threw her to the ground carelessly. Sniffling now, Lenus pulled up onto her knees, staring at the figure above her haloed by the sun. He didn't look at all like the statue that had stood in the square - automatically she glanced in that direction, seeing nothing but rubble. But the Archangel could be a man or a woman, her mother had told her. And they'd kissed the cold stone feet and her mother had said, 'The Archangel will always protect us'-

Confusion warred with fear, and she blurted, "But you don't got wings! And lotsa arms and-"

The man bent down low, running his fingers up into her silver hair and almost gently pulling back her head to expose her throat. "Oh, but I do," he said softly, raising his other hand. The long claws of a monster seemed to sprout from the back, shining in the bright light. "They're black wings that you can't see, but your kind gave them to me, and now I will thank you for it."

She flinched at the sight of the blades, tears of pain leaking from her eyes as her hair was pulled in his grip. "But the Archangel - the Archangel saves us!"

"And so I will." He smiled thinly, that hair drifting wildly in the breeze - that ugly, ugly Human hair, colored like dried blood on his face, his head. "Don't you know the song children sing, Wingly? The Humans you all despise? No, of course you don't." Lenus made a little whimper, and he laughed, his hand descending as he sang in a strangely melodic voice, "Learn the law and learn it well - Winglies go to Heaven, Humans go to-"

Flailing her arms, trying to avoid the oncoming strike, Lenus suddenly felt herself falling; she hit the ground before she could release her wings, a choked cry escaping. She looked up at the man with blurred vision, tasting metal as the blood that was now streaming from her nose also ran down the back of her throat.

"Why do I care?" the man was demanding to himself hoarsely, not seeming to see her. "Why do I even care what she'd think?"

Coughing hard, the girl began to pull herself away, scrabbling in the mud rather ineffectually. This was bad, but maybe she could get away; if she got far enough away she could start to fly…

He shook his head hard before glaring down at her, and she froze, staring back up at him over her shoulder with those huge Wingly eyes, with fear that felt so… so _good_ to see. "Go! Get out of here, kid," he finally shouted, whipping his hand through the air. "Better find Ulara, better join Charle, else this will just happen again!" he finished with a sneer, but the child was already struggling to her feet, the wings sparking at her back to help her.

Kanzas watched her as she fled, almost unconsciously sinking to his knees where he stood, the crackling sound of settling wood filling the silence, the smoky haze of the air lifting somewhat in the breeze that blew across the plains. _Godsdamn you, Shirley, _he thought sourly, driving his clawed fist down into soft, squishy mud as though it was flesh, wiggling the blades a bit to widen the gashes in the earth. _I should have killed her - damned Winglies don't _deserve_ life - I don't _care_ if you'd cry-_

He bit down hard on his tongue, stabbing the ground repeatedly until he finally let out a gasp and stopped, laughing to himself in a low tone. "Nothing!" he screamed out to the dead village, making fists at his sides. Nothing he could do was right to her; nothing he could be would ever be good enough for any of them- "Nothing, nothing, _nothing_-! You should be dead! You should have died - oh, Soa, I wish you were dead… I wish you were dead…"

His voice wavered, and he closed his mouth with an almost-audible snap, as if afraid someone might hear him, though nothing remained here except the corpses of Winglies. Tilting back his head, Kanzas took a deep breath, the smell of burned wood filling him as he made himself calm down.

"I would destroy all her enemies," he muttered to the fallen suddenly, as if they were still capable of hearing, "keep her safe from you bastards forever, and she still wouldn't thank me for it. Bah, it's not as if her tears can wash the stains from her hands…" The Dragoon raised his own hand toward the sky, watching the way his bloody fingers seemed to block out the sun above. "Hers or mine," he muttered bitterly, letting it drop with an irritated sigh.

He didn't move for quite some time, feeling the warmth beating down on his back, soaked up by the black fabric of his clothes. Would patrols come, all too late, to poke though the wreckage, to swear their revenge? Let them, then; it felt too nice to move, his energy spent, his anger for the moment dormant, pooled deep. Sometimes he missed the heat of the Southlands, the clinging humidity that the forest could get and - yes - even further back than that, the burning of the sand beneath his feet, the ocean spray and the terrible sunburn he'd get on the fishing boat every… day…

There was a strong, sharp gust of wind, and Kanzas woke from his half-doze to the sound of Taranis' shriek of warning, the wrist beneath his armguard where his Dragoon Spirit was bound aching in an increasingly familiar way. _She's using the spirit to call for me again!_ As another dragon rumbled its own challenging cry, he bent forward and clutched at his temples. "Stay away from me, Shirley! I am not your dog, to come when called! Stay away, or-"

Above him came the rending squeal of claws against hard, shining scales, and he flung his head back up to watch the clash of violet and red, the long neck of Zieg's vassal dragon, Ember, arching backward and lunging forward again as she fought to embed her teeth into Taranis' shoulder. The small figure of the rider on her back could barely be seen, struggling to hang on.

_Damn it! Taranis! Stop that! _he commanded impatiently, though pulling himself unhurriedly up out of the drying mud. _Divine Tree, it's just Zieg! Get back here! _

Roaring again, the young dragon hesitated only momentarily before he thrashed his way out of the other's hold, wheeling around in an arc to land heavily behind his Dragoon, beams splintering as his tail crashed through them. He still growled low in his throat as Ember flared her wings with a burst of sparks, setting down a safe distance away.

The blonde Human slid off her back slowly, flexing his fingers as if trying to loosen his grip as he approached, but the look in his eyes was somber as he took in the destruction of the village. "We've been looking for you," Zieg said without preamble as he got within earshot, looking a bit uncomfortable in his cold-weather clothes beneath the heat of this sun.

"Huh," he sneered back, adjusting his weight into a loose, open-legged stance, "you noticed I was gone. How touching."

Disapproval rang clearly in the other man's tone as he said, "I hope you realize the only thing destruction like this will do is to cause the Winglies to retaliate on innocent Humans."

Kanzas rolled his eyes. "Do you think I even give one damn? They were Winglies, and now they're dead. Killing them is why I'm here and that's what I'll do, so shut the hell up and tell me what you want."

Zieg paused briefly, narrowing his own eyes. Ignoring the contradiction, he continued, a bit formally, "Emperor Diaz orders you to return to Vellweb. You missed the subjugation of Mekadris, and you're not to desert us again."

His face twisted into a snarl, the ball of his foot sinking into the mud as he sprang forward, delivering a hard off-handed punch to the other Dragoon's face. "I am not Diaz's dog, or Shirley's, or yours - you can take your orders and shove them up-"

He cut himself off as Zieg pushed him backward with one hand, the other fist balling up to return the blow, aiming toward his gut. He twisted to deflect it away, pain blooming along the left side of his ribcage. The snarl became an almost feral grin as he raised his other, clawed fist, driving the blades without a second thought into the taller man's shoulder.

Drawing in a hissing breath, Zieg tugged his longsword from its sheath, brandishing it in a wide sweep to drive Kanzas out of reach, making him step back to avoid the strike. He then raised his free hand to try to staunch the blood, his expression grim. "So you do betray us?"

"Betray you?" he scoffed back, laughing suddenly. "I really have no idea why you all can see me running to the Winglies just because I don't beg with stars in my eyes for Diaz's godsdamned grace. Look around you, damn it!"

"I see nothing here to benefit our cause," he answered stiffly, biting back his pain. "Only another excuse for the Winglies to attack us."

Growling a little, Kanzas spat back, "They've given us our own excuses - you know what they do to people! Spare me the righteousness! The more of them that are dead, the safer your precious Gloriano will be!"

"Then you may not have betrayed our cause, but you _have_ betrayed our trust," Zieg hissed as he pressed his hand more firmly against the wound, fighting to keep a hold on the hilt of his blade as pain wicked downward from the spot into his sword hand.

"You say that like I'm supposed to care," Kanzas drawled, twisting around the extended longsword to whip his clawed hand forward in an almost snake-like strike. "I don't owe any of you a thing-"

Zieg drew in a slow breath as thin lines of red began to well up across his face, obviously struggling to control his anger, to keep from slicing back at him. "Even Shirley?" he retorted, unable to keep the note of mocking from his voice. "I doubt-"

He was cut off as the other Dragoon lunged forward, driving his knee sharply into Zieg's solar plexus and shoving him off his feet and into the half-dried mud, pinning him with his weight. As he gasped for breath, Kanzas twisted his free hand into blonde hair, already beginning the downward thrust of claw to throat. "You don't know _anything_!" he snarled - and then froze, tensing up with a wince as he felt a strong sensation of alarm inside his head. _The hell - Taranis? _

A moment later, Zieg's grateful confusion turned to worry as he felt the same emotion flash through him as well. Dragging the sword up between them, he shoved Kanzas off him, face twisted in pain as his eyes moved to the sky. The russet-haired man had lost interest in the fight, however, his own eyes narrowing sharply as a large shape blocked out the light of the sun overhead. Though it was in shadows, it looked so familiar-

He hissed as he realized, getting to his feet. It was the thing from the valley - or one just like it, anyway; the odd shape of its strange wings spread above it was what had thrown him off. But the grayish hide was the same, the lumpy green jewel in its middle, the crest and the long-fingered hands. Behind him, Zieg pushed himself up using his sword for support, not at all thrilled by this turn of events.

It hovered above them, seemingly taking in the sight of the destroyed village, the buzzing noise surrounding it the only sound until, suddenly, Taranis lunged. The violet vassal dragon's scream echoed in the air, a loud warning sound, and he flared his wings, kicking off the ground. The creature jerked into motion in response, its unwieldy body moving surprisingly quickly as it pushed higher into the sky to avoid the attack.

_Taranis! _Kanzas mentally shouted at him, running a few futile steps after him. It was just the same as before- _Come back here! You know you can't hurt that thing! _And, as before, his commands were ignored, the already-chaotic dragon caught up in a fierce, instinctive hatred toward the unknown creature.

He cursed loudly, preparing to transform before he caught sight of the other Dragoon hurrying past him, his gait tinged with pain. Sweat trickled down Zieg's face as he fought to keep Ember from following, holding her there until he could climb up on her back. Kanzas, unasked, quickly moved to catch up with him, catching hold of the harness ropes and hoisting himself up onto the red dragon even as she lifted off the ground with a strong flap of her wings.

Still looking rather pale as they began to ascend, the blonde man fumbled one-handed at his belt pouch until he came up with a small vial of green liquid, taken from the body of one of the Winglies he'd fought in Mekadris. Splashing the contents of the healing potion against the gash in his shoulder, he let out a long sigh of relief, finally releasing the pressure of his other hand against the wound. Though blood still darkened his red tunic, it no longer welled up past his skin, the large cut shrinking considerably.

Behind him, the bearded man shifted to one side a bit to look around his shoulder, only one leg secured beneath the harness ropes as they hurtled upward and onward. Though the wind in his face made his eyes water, he tried to keep his gaze focused on the tiny pinpoint in the blue sky ahead, the creature and his vassal dragon far ahead of them. Glowing golden lights streamed from Ember's wings as she sped to catch up to them.

_What's it doing?_ Kanzas thought angrily, finally settling back to keep from being knocked off the dragon. _It can't be running away - it's leading us someplace, then. _But where?The ground far below them wasn't familiar to him, at least from up above like this, though he knew they were still somewhere in the Eastlands, heading west from the Wingly village.

And then, as they passed through a cloudbank, a mountain range came into view on the horizon, the peaks rising before them as they neared. Not long after, the figures of the creature and Taranis began to get larger as well. The pale-gray thing zigzagged this way and that in an attempt to shake off the young violet dragon, who continued to match its movements doggedly, lightning crackling out furiously from between his teeth.

"Watch for a Wingly!" Zieg shouted suddenly, tensing up in alertness, leaning forward a bit. Though it took him several tries to be heard over the whistle of the air battering their ears, he was finally able to make himself understood. "One summoned the last one - maybe here, too!" Kanzas nodded tersely in response, having missed it last time, too concerned with Taranis' reaction to the thing back then to notice that it had been sent for.

As they continued to fly onward, the dragon at last caught up to the creature, in a final lunge jerking forward to drive his teeth into the joint where the insectile wings attached to its back. The thing thrashed as if in pain, whipping its arm backward, and the Dragoon winced as the fingers delivered a hard blow to Taranis' neck. His hand moved to cover his armguard, over his spirit, and he scowled, waiting until they were a bit closer to transform. Closer… closer…

With the approach of the second dragon, the odd thing seemed to try to retreat; descending closer toward the peaks they were hovering over, it wove inward as if to hide somehow. As Ember gained speed to charge it, her Human passengers leapt from her back, rings of electricity and streaks of fire brightening the sky, which was quickly becoming quite overcast. Dark clouds rumbled with the promise of a storm, summoned almost unconsciously by the violet dragon's rage.

It was hard to keep up, even with the wings of a Dragoon, as the three larger creatures clashed together, the dragons driving - or being led - further into the mountain range. Zieg's expression as they flew after suddenly lit up, and he grinned fiercely. Whether by chance or design, the creature and the dragons were heading straight toward the volcano he knew to be here, the place where he and Shirley had defeated the Grand Fire Dragon and he had received his spirit. Here, both he and Ember would have an advantage against the creature, especially if he was able to borrow his vassal dragon's power as Belzac and Rose had done before.

Directing her to try to force the thing down into the fiery crater, he flew closer, watching the struggle intently. Near him, Kanzas was doing much the same, until suddenly he tensed, amber eyes flicking this way and that somewhat above the volcano's cone. With only a curt gesture to Zieg to let him know something was going on, he took off, wings flashing a bright green to give power to the charge.

At first he was confused until he saw the small flash of lightning reflecting off something shiny. Suddenly understanding, he took off after Kanzas toward the Wingly who was controlling the creature. For a moment it seemed like he wouldn't notice them until it was too late, but when they were more than halfway there the silver and brown figure summoned up a hail of rocks, trying to use the distraction to escape.

The stones pinged hard against their armor, slicing open cuts here and there on his face, but Kanzas raised his arm to hide his eyes, rushing through the rock storm and following the man as he flew down further into the volcano to where Taranis and Ember had descended.

There were many layers of stone and liquid fire inside, pools and waterfalls of the stuff, and the air was, of course, quite hot, enough to start the sweat dripping down the sides of his face despite the speed they were moving. The storm that had been summoned above was letting down rain, though none of it could reach the lava, turned to steam even as it fell and creating a haze around them.

Furiously, the dragons thrashed and clawed at the thing, searching for its weakest points and trying to avoid the beams of energy and the glancing blows it was able to deliver. _The Winglies' dragon, _Kanzas thought, half out of nowhere, his attention focused mostly on the silver-haired man himself. In that case, much better to leave its destruction to the dragons themselves…

Suddenly, he halted himself, moving to fly in a wide arc around the struggling creatures, letting both their bodies and the steam of the evaporating rain hide him as he snuck in behind the soldier, whipping his clawed hand inward. Catching the gleam of the metal just in time, the Wingly turned and lashed out with his foot, taking a swipe to the shoulder before kicking the Dragoon farther away from him, eyes widening in surprise before narrowing into anger.

Moving with the ease of one who has flown his entire life, the man darted away from him, also using the larger fight as his shield. Following him with his gaze, Kanzas took in a breath and prepared to go after him - and then, with an almost strangely precise motion, the gray creature twisted sharply from its opponents, reaching out with its one hand to pluck the Violet Dragoon from the air.

_What the-! _Jarred to a stop, he barely had time to begin to struggle before it lifted him up, smashing him head-first against its broad crest and knocking him out. Almost absently, it let the Human fall from its fingers, a bright flash of light shining as his armor faded, no longer usable.

Flying as fast as he could, Zieg rushed to nearly collide with the body in mid-air, catching Kanzas over one arm before swooping down to place him on the ground. However, before he could get there, the Wingly man charged out from around his creature's other side, wings buzzing with energy as he swung down to tackle the Dragoon.

Cursing as the other man fell from his grasp and landed hard on the outcropping below, he turned to face his opponent, features twisting into a scowl before he swept upward with his blade in both hands. Though the soldier moved easily to dodge, it carved a nice furrow in his dark brown armor, coming quite close to driving into his thigh. Not letting up, Zieg swung back again, moving quickly in an attempt to fluster him, fire flaring from the length of his sword.

Battered by the blows, the silver-haired man only tried to defend, his expression angry. Turning to intercept Zieg's final attack with a quick block of his sword, the Wingly leapt backward, putting more space between them with the aid of his wings. Sheathing the blade, he raised his hand to his forehead and swung it down, fingers moving in the unmistakable pattern of a spell being cast; the Dragoon could only cringe upon seeing the bright, powerful sigil flare into being right before him, releasing its magic.

It was like nothing he'd ever felt before - or, maybe not - no, it felt exactly like the magical pad that had drained his energy in order to fire the spear at Flanvel, if not more intense. That flame that he always associated with his Dragoon spirit, the warmth inside that responded to the spirit orb, was flickering, dying away, and he let out an involuntary cry, dropping hard to his knee on the ledge below, the red armor fading back into his clothes without even the customary burst of light.

Looking up with gritted teeth, he saw with hatred the smug expression of the soldier hovering above, small swirls of crimson floating above his outstretched palm. Even as he watched, the stolen energy solidified, dropping into the Wingly's grasp in the form of a small stone.

"Fool," he said succinctly, pocketing the stone before diving down and planting his foot hard into Zieg's chest, the force of the kick knocking him backward toward the edge of the precipice. "You like using fire, do you? Try it now!"

It only took one more push to knock the stunned Human over the side, and though he caught himself with a hand, breathing heavily, the Wingly calmly stomped upon it, smirking. He didn't bother to even watch the blonde man plunge toward the lava below, turning back toward his other fallen opponent.

Above, the two dragons were in a furor; he glanced up as he moved almost casually, but the Virage was doing a good job of keeping them at bay. Satisfied that he wouldn't be attacked yet, the soldier came up to the unconscious Human and shoved him with his foot, rolling the crumpled figure over onto his back.

Considering a moment as the man mumbled something, he raised his hand and cast yet another spell, a dark cloud descending around the bearded Dragoon's torso. Finished, he looked down at the prone figure briefly with a smirk before pulling back his foot and driving it forward in a hard kick to the ribs.

Pain blossomed in the darkness as the heavy boot descended again, a cracking sound as bone broke audible through the fuzziness inside his head. His eyelids fluttering as he forced himself awake, Kanzas tried to move his arms to fend off the blows, tried to twist away and back to his feet, and found he could do neither.

Slightly frantic now, he opened his eyes to see the face of the Wingly man leering above him, landing one final kick against the Human's throat and making him gag and gasp for breath. Panic rose in his chest as he tried to move, defend, but it felt like his arms and chest were dead weight, pinned to the ground. _Arm-blocking again - but what-?_

"Still think you're clever, Human?" the Wingly sneered, drawing his broadsword from the sheath at his side, the blunt edge of it glittering brightly in the lightning flashes that filtered down through the steam of dissolving rain. Idly, he ran the point of the blade up Kanzas' chest from his waist, tearing black cloth and leaving a bright streak of blood in its wake as it came to rest just under his jaw. "Ready to die?"

He fought against the fear, taking a deep breath, the movement creating another deep scratch against his neck. "Then do it!" he finally hissed. Zieg was obviously unable to help, if he was even alive anymore, and from the sounds he could hear and the emotions he could feel from Taranis, the dragon was occupied as well. Even if he wasn't ready, even if there wasn't enough-

The soldier laughed. "In time, boy." Stepping back, he bent gracefully, catching up Kanzas' left wrist in his free hand and yanking it straight, an odd pendant with a green jewel swinging down from around his neck. The arm, affected by the spell, moved easily no matter how hard he tried to resist. "In time."

Before the man could even inhale, he swung the sword hard at his upper arm, slicing through the flesh of his bicep to the bone and striking hard there. What felt like liquid fire exploded along his veins, a sharp throbbing protest, and as he drew in air to cry out the Wingly swung again, the edge of the broadsword taking on a slight magical haze.

Images flashed before his eyes - _Jidena's arms, legs, her skin, intestines, blood, all scattered across Aglis' stones, the wet sound of her organs slopped down carelessly - the others staked on the wall, impaled, to slowly die, the pleading, the sobs _- and he let out a scream, his head scraping back against the ground. It rang out repeatedly with each hit, echoing in the cavernous space, the sound of raw pain and terror. There was no escaping them - he'd get what he deserved-

Bone fractured and finally broke beneath the violent strikes, the last one tearing the arm free of the muscle that still held it on. The Wingly stood back, and Kanzas stared at him with blurry vision, barely realizing that what he saw was his own bloody limb dangling from the other's hand. He grinned, waving it grotesquely at the Human for a moment, and then tossed it carelessly to one side. "Wasn't that _fun_? How about the next?"

The screaming sound echoed still, though he'd since quieted into ragged, panting breaths, Taranis above shrieking out his rage and worry. However, the attacks of the Virage prevented him from descending, the storm above increasing in fury. The silver-haired man ignored all of this, reaching for his right wrist now.

Kanzas could barely feel anything but the blood streaming from the stump on his other side, and yet even past that he could sense the sudden burning of the Dragoon Spirit underneath the bracer around his remaining forearm. He watched dully as his arm was pulled straight again, as the sword was lifted-

He heard a loud, bellowing cry, and there was a sudden blur of color before his eyes as Zieg came charging out of nowhere, having been able to haul himself up from the little ledge where he'd landed after being thrown over. Smacking the Wingly hard in the chest with his shoulder, he used his momentum to shove him toward the opposite, much nearer pool of lava. The blade clattered to the ground, jarred away, and Kanzas' hand fell back down insensibly, his gasping now of relief.

It happened so suddenly that the soldier barely had time to react before he was driven over the edge, one hand reaching to grab for the Red-Eye Dragoon's shirt. Zieg, however, windmilled backward frantically, and the fingers caught only air before their owner disappeared into the liquid fire with a gurgling scream and a splash.

Ducking away from the spray and cursing softly as he realized the Wingly had taken the stone containing the spirit power of his Dragoon armor into the lava with him, he didn't pause long to stare. Being an experienced warrior, he knew what was more important right now and that he could deal with this later.

However, the blonde man's scalded skin was the gray color of exhaustion as he turned around slowly and stumbled back toward his companion. "Dear Soa," he breathed, shaking his head and sinking to his knees.

The arm-blocking spell had vanished with its caster, but Kanzas didn't make any attempt to move. Despite shock and his own wounds, Zieg immediately began tearing long strips from his burgundy cloak, wrapping them around the arm stump and twisting tight to stop the blood flow.

The other Dragoon didn't seem to respond to either his voice or the sting of his hands binding the remains of his limb, staring up at the sky where the dragons still battled the creature. It fought on despite the sudden demise of the one controlling it; all three were looking worse for wear now, whether it was the deep gouges in the gray skin of the thing or the patches of missing scales flayed from draconic hide.

A thought, rather random and fleeting, told him it was a good thing that the dragons could hurt these creatures after all. There were sure to be more of them, and Wingly masters with them.

_Hey, Taranis. Listen, _Kanzas thought, focusing everything he had on the words instead of feeling the pain. A flicker of grim humor sounded in the message. _Get its arm for me, will you? _

It took some time for the thought to reach the dragon through his frenzied emotions, but the strength of his bond with his Dragoon was enough. Whipping his head from side to side, Taranis twisted his body around, aiming to drive his teeth and claws into the joint of the arm. After a moment, Zieg looked up as well, blood-covered hands stilling as he began directing Ember too.

Gobbets of green fluid sprayed from the sudden tear as the dragon's teeth dug in, Ember on the other side roaring loudly before lunging straight for its midsection. Beams of light shot upward from its eyes almost crazily, though hitting nothing as it was nearly pulled apart. The thick mucousy stuff rained down, unlike the water fizzling from the clouds, splattering around them as the creature's arm was torn from its side.

Taranis arching back upward with the long-fingered limb in his claws as it came free, the fire dragon kept pressing downward, driving the wounded creature toward the lava. It hit the pool hard, sending up a huge gush of the liquid, which engulfed Ember but didn't harm her; after all, this was the place of her birth.

Kanzas heard Zieg's sigh of relief, his vision going blurry and returning, and though he was dimly aware that he ought to be glad they'd won, he just couldn't make himself care. Taranis, agitated, flapped back and forth above them, making occasional little dives as if trying to land on the small ledge near him, and he forced himself to think of something to reassure his vassal dragon, aware that he could easily drift off, and then the protective beast might attack the others in his defense.

_Go on, _he thought, feeling the dragon's worry pounding into him. _We'll be going back north. Go back to your nest. _Taranis still hesitated, however, and he dragged together the shreds of his energy to shout, _Go! _

Finally, with shrieking cry that echoed down into the volcano, his vassal dragon shot upward, flapping his wings hard to gain altitude, and disappeared into the clouds, still carrying the creature's limb. Kanzas, satisfied, fell back into numbness again, feeling rather unconcerned about what might happen to him now.

Watching this, Zieg then turned to look down at the fallen man, his expression darkening. "Still bleeding," he muttered, lurching to his feet. "I'll be right back-" he told him absently, drawing his sword and disappearing from view.

He waited, staring upward absently, and a few moments later Zieg's face appeared above him once again, his skin pink with burns from having fallen so close to the lava. He raised his sword, the blade quite hot even at a distance; he'd obviously dipped it into the pool in which the Wingly soldier had been pushed.

"Brace yourself," he warned, and Kanzas tensed, eyes squeezing closed as the other man pressed the heated metal firmly against the remains of his severed arm to cauterize the wound.

His heels drove deep furrows into the ground, his body arching as he bit hard into his lip and tried to fight back another scream. Breaking the skin with his teeth, the only sound that escaped was the gasp when the sword was pulled away, his own blood trickling over his tongue. Almost gratefully, he slipped back into unconsciousness, too worn out now to be able to stay awake.

Letting his sword drop to cool a bit, Zieg shook his head and removed his tattered cloak, covered in sweat and welcoming the loss of the heavy wool. He gingerly but without hesitation moved to wrap up the discarded arm into a sling he could carry, calling for Ember.

Rock broke and spiraled downward into the lava as she descended at his call, forcing her way into the smaller space, and he finally retrieved his sword before making his exhausted body keep moving, slinging Kanzas' smaller form over his shoulder and climbing onto her back. "Home," he murmured aloud once he'd secured himself and the other Dragoon, settling in for the rather long flight back.

Shattering the ledge as she pushed off, they flew up through the hissing evaporating rain, the storm clouds the violet dragon had summoned swirling madly around the volcano's cone. Despite Ember's best efforts, she was wounded as well, and Zieg could feel her discomfort with every glimmering flap of her wings.

He urged her on mentally, fighting to keep awake himself, but it was still several hours before the snowfields of Gloriano spread out beneath them, the cliffs and towers of Vellweb rising out of the span of white. The small dark shapes of soldiers fled from the walls as the vassal dragon descended sharply, nearly crashing down into a perch on the wall, mouth open in silent, reptilian panting.

Kanzas was still unconscious, and showing no signs of coming around, and although he wasn't about to try to wake the wounded man and force him to walk, he was still quite awkward to carry. The Fire Dragoon nearly fell from the dragon's back, landing on his knees in the snow but managing to keep his ally from tumbling into it as well. "Just a little longer," he muttered, looking toward the many staircases with a sinking heart.

Zieg let Ember go with grateful thanks, knowing that the soldiers wouldn't dare to approach until she was away. Dragons had their own healing factor, though it would take some resting in her nest in the on the southern border before she was up to fighting again. She gave a little roar as she went, and when the swirling snow disturbed by her wings died down enough that he could see, he called over to the nearest figures for help.

The pale-faced men who responded tried to pretend they hadn't been afraid of the large beast, throwing salutes as they recognized two of the Dragon Knights. "Sir, how can we help?" one asked, clearly shocked at their condition.

"Shirley," Zieg huffed wearily, adjusting the wrapped bundle containing the severed arm beneath his own. Gods, but she wasn't going to be pleased, either. "Where is she?"

Taken aback, the two guards looked at each other before one managed to get out, "Lady Shirley is in the palace with-"

He cut him off with a curt nod, shifting the prone form sprawled across his legs, teeth chattering from the cold. "Bring him to her, quickly."

Though his voice was fraught with fatigue, it was still quite sharp and stern, and neither of the other Humans dared to say anything further, merely saluting again before moving to carry Kanzas between them. Zieg could hear a quiet oath muttered as he placed the wrapped arm with them, shoving himself upright again and clumsily following after them toward the palace building, which was thankfully not too far away.

Cold wintery air made the burns on his face and hands ache, and he was glad when they got inside, numbly making himself take the two flights upstairs as he went with the guardsmen, waved through into the private wing of the palace.

At the end of the hallway they came into, Damia sat on a bench to get the last of the light that filtered through the little oiled-paper window; upon hearing footsteps, she looked up, going completely white at the sight of their injuries. "Zieg!" the girl gasped, leaping to her feet. "What happened to you two…?"

He shook his head, wincing slightly as he held out a hand to halt her. "It doesn't matter - where's Shirley? And are the others back yet?"

"No, they aren't," she answered, drawing to a stop before she could touch him, her eyes wide in dismay. "Shirley's in Lady Mille's room - I'll go get her." Barely able to drag her gaze away from Kanzas' missing arm, she finally turned and headed just down the hall, admitted by the guard there and disappearing into the room.

Letting out a sigh, Zieg resisted the urge to sink down onto the bench she'd left behind, waiting. However, instead of the short redheaded woman he expected, it was Emperor Diaz who returned with Damia, who gave the other Dragoon a little frowning, almost apologetic look as she trailed behind their ruler.

Taking in the situation, the man shook his head, his already-worried expression deepening further. "What has happened?" he demanded.

Swaying on his feet, Zieg explained quickly, leaving out where he'd found Kanzas for now, though casting an apprehensive glance toward the other man. He wasn't in danger of bleeding to death anymore, however, and so he resigned himself to telling the emperor about the gray creature and the Wingly controlling it. "I'm sure Shirley can help him," he finished, almost as if to reassure himself as well as Diaz. After all, a one-armed Dragoon…

"I'm sure she can," he answered rather grimly, "but it will have to wait. She must stay with my wife now until the child is born. I won't take the risk of letting her go." Ignoring Zieg's surprise, he turned to the soldiers waiting with the fallen man. "Take him to one of the guest rooms and make him comfortable," he ordered, the sleeve of his white robe flapping as he waved.

Damia, who had been hesitantly waiting near Kanzas while the story was told, stood back out of the way as they saluted, picking him up again and carried him away. She once again gave Zieg a look, trying desperately not to speak out.

He sighed again, scrubbing a hand back through his hair despite the pain. "I… guess that's wise, sir," he managed to say, holding in a wince as he realized how disbelieving that sounded. But Shirley was really the only hope they had - if she couldn't repair the arm, there would be trouble.

The stern look in Diaz's eyes softened a little, and he gave Zieg a nod, already half-turning away. "I understand your concern," he said, "but you understand what is more important here, I'm sure. Now, do excuse me…" Without stopping for an answer, he moved back toward his rooms to wait on his wife's labor; the other man managed to stay standing until he'd gone again before dropping hard onto the bench, exhaling heavily.

Damia crept up to his side, sitting on the edge of the wooden seat herself and looking up at him. "You're hurt too, Zieg," she murmured. "At least you can go see a healer below."

"I will," he answered back wearily, leaning against the wall. The rays of light outside were beginning to wane with the fall of evening, and he just closed his eyes, only half-aware of the girl's worried questioning beside him.

Of course Diaz would be more concerned about Mille, his possible heir, and the future of Gloriano than one of his warriors - he shouldn't feel so taken aback. However, there was something else about his lord's manner that was making him uneasy - but he was just too tired to figure out what it was…


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Author's Note: The lullaby lyrics mentioned later this chapter are from the oldest recorded medieval lullaby, but I translated them from Middle English myself into what you read here (have to do something with that nearly-finished English degree).

_"I've a favor to ask, maybe this is a bad time  
You know whenever you ask there's never a good time  
How do you take your heart out of it?  
How can you take your heart out of this?  
And how do you stop once you've started?"  
_--Matthew Good, "Lullaby For the New World Order"

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter Thirteen

The rays of morning light, diluted by their passage through the oiled paper covering the window hole, spilled down the palace hallway, and the small figure of the Mininto standing there tilted his face up to greet them. It had been a night of blood and of birth; Matthi could still smell the faint traces of it in the air, feel the knowledge of the new spirit that had been called into the world.

Lacing his fingers back through cropped pink hair, the small guard rocked back and forth on his heels, humming brightly to himself. Behind the doors that lined this hallway, important things were happening to important people - and he didn't envy them in the slightest.

And then, without warning, Matthi's large pointed ears pricked, picking up the sound of voices a bit further down. As it was his job currently to guard the royal bedchamber, he didn't stray far from his post, simply crossing to the other side of the passageway and tilting his head unashamedly in the direction of the guest room where Kanzas had been taken.

The words were spoken softly, nearly impossible to make out, one voice male and the other female. He waited until he could feel the magic rise in the air, dragon-magic much different from his own, and drew back against the rough stone of the wall a bit, out of the light.

Humans and magic - no matter how well he knew what the Dragoon power was meant to be used for, part of him still insisted that they hardly knew what they were doing; they would make some mistake with it someday that couldn't be undone…

A sudden sharp female cry broke the Mininto's thoughts, making him stand up straight, eyes fixed on the doorway down the hall. There was another shout, the sound of something like furniture clattering to the floor, and then the door slammed open loudly. Kanzas tore from the room, skidding across the stone floor before pushing off the opposite wall and racing toward him. Matthi quickly stood out of the way, his eyes wide with curiosity, and turned to watch the running Dragoon.

However, he didn't go very far. Swaying rather dizzily, Kanzas fell heavily with his shoulder against the wall, one hand reaching to rub at the ragged, half-knit flesh banding his other arm over and over again. At the sound of the little table he'd upset being righted, however, and the footsteps from the other room coming closer, he shoved himself back upright again and ran for the stairs, disappearing around the corner.

"You should have just left his arm off, Shirley, if that's all the thanks he has for you," Belzac muttered wearily to the young woman, reaching to her shoulder to support her as she made her way unsteadily to his side. At the moment, he just couldn't care how petty that sounded. "Not a word of gratitude-"

"Belzac, stop," she said back, hoping her voice didn't sound as slurred as she was hearing it. "If it wasn't for the Dragoon Spirit, I would have _had_ to leave it like that. It's just I-" She was cut off by a yawn, raising her hand to her mouth to cover it, and when it was done, she'd completely lost her train of thought. "Anyway, it's not finished. Better go find him…"

The large man shook his head, tightening his hand around her shoulder as she tried to take a step forward. "No, you're not. It's not going to fall off again, right? Then leave it. It's his own fault if it bothers him - you've been up more than an entire day now." And in that day she'd not only fought at Mekadris, but then delivered a baby, and now this. Frankly, he was amazed she could still stand. "You're going to bed now."

"But-"

"No buts." He smiled a bit, shifting, and swept her into his arms, one beneath her knees, the other at her back. She squeaked a bit in surprise, but otherwise made little protest, holding on with her arm around his neck. "I'll carry you."

Shirley sighed, leaning against Belzac's shoulder, her eyes already closing, and he strode down the hallway as well, too preoccupied to notice Matthi standing there watching them. This was all right by him; the guard remained back out of the way until they'd gone, and only when the footsteps had faded away did he heave a small sigh, shaking his head and returning to his post by the wall.

* * *

There were more people than ever filling Vellweb now, a handful of refugees trickling in every week to add to the throng. There would be more of them, too, when the warm season came; only the very desperate tried crossing the snowfields in winter, most of them wearing all they owned, usually clothes better suited for warmer climes.

But Shirley could feel the warmth growing in the air, in the wind blowing from the coast. Midwinter's Day and its festivities had come and gone without notice while she and Kanzas had been in Kadessa, and now the long frozen season was finally turning. Not even the weather-magic of the Winglies could keep Gloriano snowbound year-round, and she was not the only one looking forward to spring, late though it was and short as it would be.

Still, it wasn't spring yet, and it was still cold and windy enough to make bundling up necessary. As she walked through the market square, weaving through the growing crowds, she kept her white cloak pulled closely around her. However, it was more for the benefit of the baby she carried, swaddled tightly in a wrap bound to her chest.

She smiled at the little bundle, adjusting the down-lined hat farther over fine brown wisps of hair, making sure to cover tiny ears. The baby, whose otherwise loving parents had named him Kyriaca, worked his lips reflexively, caught up in sleep.

Just a moment later, the red-haired Dragoon caught sight of the stall she had been aiming for, a thick hide drape hanging in front of it to protect the contents from the wind. She pushed the pelt up to one side as she slipped inside, letting it fall behind her and taking a moment to breathe in the strong mixed scents of herbs.

Though the drape didn't do much to keep the noise of the marketplace out, for some reason the interior of the stall seemed like a separate place altogether. It was dark, but a little stove in the corner of the small area kept it warm; the crackling of the fire mixed with the gentle strains of music. _Strange, _she thought, _but nice…_

Before she could say anything about the oddness, however, the stall owner straightened from behind her counter, an older woman's slightly plump face giving her a bright smile. "Welcome," she greeted, her smile broadening as she recognized her customer. "Oh, and greetings to you, Lady Shirley."

"Hello, Meera," she replied, coming closer to the counter. From here, she could see now where the music was coming from; a blonde woman sat on a low crate in the corner near the fire, her eyes closed, a lute cradled in her hands, her fingers moving lightly across the strings. "Forgive me," she said curiously, "but weren't you playing the flute at Emperor Diaz's feast, some weeks ago?"

She smiled, lifting her hand with a soft musical jangle. "I was, my lady," she replied with a nod, "but I also know other instruments, of course. I have the fortune of being Head Player, the emperor's most favorite musician-"

"Perhaps on account of few others ever learned to play," Meera said in tones half-amused, half-disapproving, as she prodded the younger woman in the shoulder with a finger. "Lady Shirley, please let me introduce to you my niece, Shar."

"Pleased to meet you," she responded. "You really do play quite well."

Shar smiled again, nodding her respect. "I thank you." Almost without thought, she moved to pluck the strings again, a gentle accompaniment beneath her words. "I hope to have something new worked out for the Year Festival, something to dance to-"

"Come, come," her aunt fussed, "I'm sure Lady Shirley hasn't stopped by to hear about your playing."

"Great though it is?" she pressed blithely, giving the lute a quick strum and pretending not to see it as Meera put her hands on her hips, embarrassed by her lack of decorum.

Chuckling, Shirley pushed back her cloak, working with one hand at the knot holding the baby wrapped close to her. "Well, I do need some herbs, for a medicine I want to make," she said, bringing the shop owner's attention back quickly. "I'm not sure which ones would be best to use for him, though."

Meera's round face was practically beaming as she leaned forward, peering over the redheaded woman's arm at the slumbering bundle. "Ah, I reckoned you had a little one with you!" She held out her arms automatically, and with a moment's hesitation Shirley passed Kyriaca to her. She cradled the baby with the familiarity of long experience, scrutinizing the child closely. "My, but he _is_ a little one, isn't he?" she murmured to herself.

"Yes," she answered back, "that's… part of the problem." Shirley shook her head, wondering how much she could tell her. As far as the people of Gloriano knew, Diaz's son had been born without complications, without adverse effects from his mother's poisoning, but that was simply not the case.

Leaning down, the other woman listened to the baby's breathing, her ear against his small chest. Behind her, the music fell silent, its sudden absence jarring to the ear, and Shar stood up from her seat, setting the lute down where she'd been resting.

Deeply asleep, Kyriaca merely stirred at the newly-apparent sounds of the vendors shouting outside, but it was not enough to wake him. Shirley and Shar watched in silence as Meera knelt near the fire, using its light to observe the color of his skin, clucking her tongue absently. She finally stood up and shook her head, returning to the counter. "He does not breathe well," she stated firmly.

The vague tone of disapproval grated on her - as if it was _her_ fault his lungs were weak - but she forced her irritation down. Maybe that was right, anyway. "Is there something I can make to help that?" she asked instead. "I'm afraid mustard plaster would be too strong yet."

"Yes, too harsh, even with cloths," she agreed. "How is he-" The herbalist looked up suddenly, a flash of whiteness brightening the interior of the shop as a wizened older woman pushed aside the drape, sidling into the dim space. "Welcome!" she greeted brightly, glancing quickly between Shirley and the new customer.

Knowing that Meera was wondering how to wait on the newcomer and still give her all the attention her rank deserved, Shirley said, "Oh, go ahead. We still haven't found what we need, have we?" She held out her arms to take the baby back, but Shar suddenly raised her hand between them, leaning forward.

"Please," she asked, a bit strongly. "Please, let me hold him."

Blinking, Shirley nodded, watching as Meera transferred the little bundle to her niece with a word of thanks, hurrying to help the other customer. Shar, too, held him with easy confidence in the crook of one arm, tracing the curve of his cheek with her other forefinger as he sleepily opened his eyes to look up at her. One of the beaded ties woven into her thick blonde hair trailed forward over her shoulder, brushing against the swaddling bands wrapped across his chest.

Finally, she said tentatively, "You seem… familiar with…"

Almost as if she hadn't heard, Shar murmured, "He's quiet, isn't he? Passed around like this, most of them squall - mine did…"

She knew better than to ask for any more details, and she could probably guess, anyway. Too many babies were lost too soon, in many cases along with their mothers; indeed, many children were lucky to make it to five years. Besides, if traveling to Mekadris over the years to free slaves had taught Shirley anything, it was that everyone carried their own pain, and if they wished to share it, then they would when they were ready.

Instead, she just nodded, and the bard remained silent, a crooked little smile on her lips as she studied the child's face. At the other side of the plank-board counter, gold exchanged hands as the old woman purchased her herbs and turned to leave.

Wiping her hands on her apron absently, Meera bustled back toward the two; eyeing Shar momentarily, she seemed to make a quick decision before turning to the Dragoon and saying cheerfully, "Well now, and thank you for waiting. Back to it, then. What's the child's element, Lady Shirley?"

"Void, I'm afraid," she said, giving a helpless little sigh. Kyriaca had inherited his father's element - or, rather, lack of one - which wasn't going to help them now. Many herbs and medicines were more effective when used in conjunction with a person's element, and using plants with the opposite elemental association destroyed and cured illnesses much faster.

Meera made a little tsking noise, obviously thinking the same thing. "We'll base it on the latent element, then," she decided, turning toward the rows of jars on the shelves behind her. "Not as good, that, but better than taking just anything. And that's…?"

Shirley nodded, hesitating again, but she doubted the two could guess the prince's identity just from knowing his mother's element as well and answered, "The latent is light, Meera."

"Darkness, then," she muttered to herself, running her fingers across the jars. None were labeled, but she obviously knew just where everything was. "Burdock, no… dandelion, it depends…"

"Poor baby," Shar commented, shaking her head and finally, reluctantly holding Kyriaca out again. Shirley took him carefully as she continued, "I've never known anyone without an element to live content."

She smiled a little, red hair shading her face as she bent her head, tying the sling close to her again. "Then I hope he'll be the first."

"…But dragoni… no, too strong… ah! Astragalus root." Returning to the counter with two jars, the herbalist plunked them down and dragged a little scale closer to her, setting one side with a small weight and tipping out a long yellowish-brown dried root. With the point of a small knife, she cracked the root's fibrous skin and began separating out the interior, placing it on the scale's empty saucer.

"Make a plaster or poultice with this, my lady," Meera instructed as she worked. "It should draw out any toxins in his blood. He being one of Lord Belzac's orphans, I reckon? How's he fed?"

The assumption startled her, but she let it stay as the truth, since it was a most convenient excuse. "Oh - he has a nurse."

She nodded as she wrapped the pieces of root in a bit of cloth, the loose bun at the top of her head bobbing with the movement. "I'll give you some dandelion root too. Have her boil and drink it in a tea. It won't taste much fine, but it will be good for the baby in the milk." Narrowing her eyes, she turned again and took a little bottle from a box on the floor. "Here, and use this as base for the poultice. I wouldn't sell it for usual, but…"

_But I'm a Dragoon and could probably afford it,_ she finished silently, taking the little glass phial and raising it up to look at the green liquid inside. "This is… a Wingly potion?" she asked, surprised. "Body Purifier!"

"There used to be some trade," she explained, "before the war, you know. Now there's blockades and all, even if we wanted to trade with Wingly bastards, I beg your pardon. Mostly we get the rarer stuff from the Gigantos away south now. That's where my husband is now, 'till spring comes."

"A dangerous journey," she murmured back, closing her hand around the bottle.

Meera nodded unhappily. "Yes, but there's nothing for it. I'm quite glad of Gloriano, don't mistake me, but there's not much what grows here. I do wish I could make such potions, Lady Shirley. They work so much better than anything, but you just can't get many from them as what make them."

From where she was leaning, elbows propped on the counter, Shar straightened up, her melancholy brightening into a rather devilish smile. "Speaking of Gigantos," she drawled, "it's usually Lord Belzac who comes in for herbs. I was surprised it was you today, Lady Shirley. Is he well?"

"He's… busy with the children now," she replied slowly as she turned to face her, startled by the sudden question. "But yes, he's fine… I'll tell him you asked after him…"

Pausing as she turned to put the jars back on the shelf, Meera muttered in a voice obviously meant to be heard, "More as like, my girl, the lord got tired of your shameless advances-"

"Now, Aunt Meera!" the bard protested, putting one hand on her hip playfully. "I've just heard there are… benefits to being half-Giganto, and I wouldn't mind finding out if it were true." She turned and raised an eyebrow toward Shirley, who could feel her face immediately begin to redden; Shar's smile was teasing, but there was a small undercurrent of retribution there. "My lady, perhaps you could say-"

"Oh, I-" she stuttered quickly with embarrassment, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I-"

"Still your wagging tongue, Shar!" the older woman burst in angrily, spinning on her niece. "If you're not lucky, someone less kind may cut it out for you!"

Chastised, she dipped her gaze as in penance, though the little smile still remained. "My apologies, Lady Shirley," she offered. "I meant no harm by it."

"It's… it's all right," the Dragoon returned, still feeling the heat of her blush in her face. It wasn't the innuendo that bothered her as much as the fact that it was innuendo regarding Belzac, and she wasn't quite sure how to take it. "I really should be going, though…"

"Of course, my lady." With another quick frown at Shar, the herbalist took back the bottle of Body Purifier and bundled it with the rest of the herbs, exchanging the package for several gold pieces. The embossed profile of Melbu Frahma glared up at them from the coins as they were slid across the counter, but money was money, no matter who adorned its face.

When she had finally slipped out, she bent her head, adjusting the folds of her cloak - and was stopped suddenly, fingers pressing into her shoulders. She looked up quickly to see a familiar figure holding her at arms' length - a familiar figure who had only grown more so over time. "Ought to watch where you're walking," Kanzas said shortly, pushing her back with a little flick of his hands.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized automatically, unable to keep from glancing toward his left arm, feeling uncertain because of his reaction even though many days had passed since they had argued, since she had healed him. When he didn't respond, however, she let a little note of teasing creep into her voice. "But how strange to meet you here so suddenly. Why, it's almost as if you were waiting for me."

Kanzas chose to ignore that, giving her a dire look before pointing almost accusingly at the sling of cloth cradled against her. "Why are you carrying _that_ around? Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Don't you?" she retorted, placing a hand gently on the baby's head as if to protect him from the words. _So… back to pretending nothing happened, is it?_ After so long without speaking to him, however, she was willing to go along with that. "It helps keep him warm. And his name is Kyriaca."

The man screwed up his face into a sneer. "So, you're the White-Silver baby-minder, now? I thought Diaz could afford to hire people to watch whatever-his-name-is - Kite."

Shirley frowned, shooting a half-serious glare at him. He was leading her right into it, she knew, but somehow she found herself going along anyway. "It's Kyriaca. You don't name a baby after a kind of _hawk_, Kanzas."

"I don't see why not." He shrugged carelessly, amusement clearly playing in his eyes as he peered down over her shoulder, pretending to scrutinize the child seriously. "He looks like one, anyway, with his face all red and pinched like that. A plucked hawk, maybe."

"Stop that. He's the prince; show a little more respect." She poked his arm with her index finger, not coincidentally the recently-healed one, slipping past him as if to continue back into the market square, but he dropped his hand on her shoulder, halting her.

Shaking his head when she looked back, Kanzas asked, "No, really, why are you carrying it around?"

The red-haired woman sighed, glancing around at the crowd that was passing by in the dirty avenue away from the stalls. "I… shouldn't tell you," she murmured. "Not here, anyway. If you come back to the palace with me, I'll tell you there. I'm finished here now-"

He snorted derisively, and she turned all the way back around in surprise. "Oh no, you don't. I do that, and you suddenly say you have to go somewhere and fob the kid off on me, right? I don't think so."

_What in the world…? _She let out a hard breath of air, giving him a look mixed between laughter and disbelief. "You really think I'd do that?"

Kanzas nodded, crossing his arms in front of his chest, the edge of his black cloak slipping down from his shoulder to cover them. "You're predictable, Shirley."

"Well, someone has to be," she muttered wryly. "Look, I wouldn't trust you to watch a child."

"Good!"

She rolled her eyes, giving him a flippant wave. "Come with me or don't come with me, whatever you want. _You're_ the one who's curious about why I have him with me."

He glared at her; she held the gaze with one of her own, raising an eyebrow. Finally, just as she turned to walk away, she heard an explosive sigh from behind her. "You are very lucky that I like you."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Shirley answered archly, feeling triumphant as he made an irritated noise, catching up to her. Not giving him a chance to refuse, she shoved the parcel into his hands, taking the risk that he wouldn't just drop it into the slush. "Would you carry this for me? My hands are full."

"They are not!" he snapped, tucking the package under his arm anyway as he stomped along next to her. She quickly busied her hands with keeping her cloak wrapped around Kyriaca, supporting his slight weight in the sling, and he rolled his eyes but didn't say anything more as they crossed toward the stairs to the upper city.

As they started upward, however, Shirley suddenly became aware that Kanzas was humming to himself, staring off into the distance in thought although he kept moving along the narrow, icy stairs as though quite sure of his footing. She watched him quizzically and with a little alarm, and as the stairs began to curve but the direction of his path didn't, she suddenly reached to grab hold of the back of his cloak, pulling him back sharply.

"Ought to watch where you're walking," she echoed quietly, slowly releasing the dark cloth. "What was that tune you-"

"I knew where I was going," he shot back, cutting her off, and shoved the package of herbs back into her half-outstretched hand. "Here, you can obviously hold on to this."

"Why, thank you," she muttered under her breath, following him as he started off again, more purposefully this time.

When they reached the nursery inside the palace - one of the few upper-story rooms which hadn't needed to be repaired after the firing of the spear-shooter - Shirley frowned in dismay upon finding it cold. The fire in the low stone fireplace had nearly gone out, only a few embers flickering amidst piled ash. "There must have been a draft..." she figured out loud, crossing the room and reaching for the poker.

Kanzas, however, grabbed it before she could, heaving a weary sigh. "Just let me," he half-snarled; she shrugged, giving him a consenting nod. "Why is this up to you? I thought someone was hired to watch the kid!"

"Yes," she answered, standing back out of the way, "but I told her to take the afternoon off so I could look into his medicine."

Crouching down, the man stirred the embers a little, reaching for the dry bits of tinder kept in a tin nearby to work the fire up again. _I shouldn't be surprised,_ he told himself. _I really shouldn't…_ He barely gave Shirley a look as she knelt next to him briefly, tossing in a few chips from a small basket. The scent of cedar began to waft into the room as it began to burn, and he raised an eyebrow.

"It purifies the air, promotes health," she explained without being asked, dragging the low cradle a little closer to the tiny fire before slowly untying the sling and laying the baby, wrap and all, into the ornately-carved bed. "I'm hoping that as he gets older his lungs will start to catch up, that he'll get stronger…"

When she had her back to him, he turned to watch her slow movements as she crossed to the table she'd set up, unpacking her herbs and beginning her work. He shook his head before standing back up to get firewood from the pile set safely across the room. "So that's why there's been no big announcement, no celebration or something," he said flatly.

Shirley tensed a little, but nodded, her back still turned as she shredded the root with a small paring knife. Kyriaca's parents didn't think he'd live - and she couldn't make herself say it aloud. "He's so sickly, so weak," she said quietly, settling into a chair as she poured a small amount of the precious Body Purifier into a wooden bowl. "Emperor Diaz hasn't named him successor yet… and Lady Mille will barely hold him; I think she's afraid of losing him-"

"Horseshit!" Kanzas hissed, but it was only audible as a sharp sound to the other Dragoon. However, she heard him clearly enough as he stormed back over to the fireplace, tossing the wood on the fire without a care that it might quash the little flames. "What kind of excuse is that to hand him over to you?"

"I _asked_ to help," she shot back, twisting to give him a glare and raising the dripping spoon in warning. "If I can in any way help make him stronger, then I will! For all we know," she choked, "the poison made Lady Mille barren - and don't start on me about guilt! This isn't about my feelings, my wanting to fix what I couldn't before!"

He shrugged in response as if to say that she'd proved his point before he could even make it. "Well, tell me this, then," he demanded, looking up at her before rising to his feet. "If this one dies, and Mille can't have another, would _you_ have Diaz's heir for him?"

Shirley drew in a short, startled breath of air, looking down at the bowl in her hands, letting her hair fall to hide the sudden chalky paleness of her face. Somehow, she couldn't feel offended by the question although she knew she was supposed to, recognizing its seriousness and knowing deep inside how important Gloriano's future was to her.

After a moment Kanzas stopped waiting for her to speak; her silence had already answered for her. "All right," he murmured a bit gruffly, spinning away when she guardedly raised her head to meet his eyes. "I guess we better make sure Kite lives, then."

"Kyriaca," she corrected almost immediately, trying to say anything to shift the subject away from where it was.

He snorted, and she let out her breath in huff of a sigh, leaning far forward momentarily. The pungent stench of the stuff in the bowl greeted her nose, and she sat back up quickly with a cough. Giving it a few more stirs with the spoon, she stood up and walked back over to the cradle.

Kneeling down, she pulled back the blanket covering the baby's form, unwrapping the swaddling bands before gently untying the ribbons of his gown and sliding it off him. Dipping her fingertips into the oily brown-green ointment she'd made, Shirley gently began to rub it onto his chest. Whether from the temperature of the stuff or from the smell of it, he squirmed uncomfortably, beginning a soft, breathless cry.

"Shh," she whispered, rubbing her hands together briskly to warm them before reaching into the bowl again. "Shh, baby. I know; it smells awful. Just be still, now… soon enough you'll have strength for crying." As she massaged the herbal mixture onto Kyriaca's skin, the touch began to calm him, the odor helping him to breathe easier, and the thready wails subsided.

Feeling motion behind her, the young healer looked back up over her shoulder without surprise to see Kanzas standing there, his arms crossed as he stared down at her and the prince. His lips twitched, and he finally muttered, "Your back must hurt, you carrying the world around and all."

"Would you have me stand by and do nothing? Watch as a child dies when I could have done something to save him?" She shook her head, turning away, brown eyes narrowing as she stared into the flickering glow of the fireplace across from her. "I don't understand how you can even argue-"

She fell abruptly silent, feeling hands on her shoulders as the other Dragoon knelt down slowly behind her, his voice in her ear whispering, "Shirley, hush."

Something unspoken was hanging in the air between them, and she didn't dare speak again, afraid it would vanish like morning mist in the light. Instead, she simply reached her arm over the wooden side of the cradle, feeling Kyriaca's tiny fingers closing tightly around one of her own, holding on with, it seemed, all the strength he possessed.

Kanzas' hands remained on her shoulders, holding her in half an embrace, his breath ruffling the hair on the top of her head. Slowly, she could feel more of his weight pressing against her back, his hands sliding down the sides of her arms, resting lightly on the tops of her wrists. The ragged line of the scar ringing his left bicep where his arm had been reattached made her heart ache a little, and she finally broke the silence to say, "I wish you would have let me finish healing that for you…"

"Scars remind you of the pain," he answered quietly. "If I let you erase it, it would hardly matter now."

"Why," she asked him, not understanding at all, "would you want to remember pain?"

He smiled with one corner of his mouth, resting his cheek in the red strands of her hair. "Anything I said to that would just make you feel sorry for me. Forget it."

Shirley exhaled a slow, thoughtful breath, almost unconsciously leaning back into his arms, the baby's hand still curled firmly around her finger. "Then just tell me," she said after a few moments in the warm, comfortable silence, "what you're remembering now."

_Remembering?_ Kanzas thought, a bit startled. But… he was, wasn't he? Somehow, she'd just known. Seeing her carrying around that baby had brought back the lullaby, the tune he still knew well enough to hum, had brought it all to the forefront of his mind. _Scars indeed. Scars, every one. _"In Aglis, a baby was born," he tried to explain, indulging her. "A daughter, to two of the others. I was… ten. I think."

_'Lullay, lullay, little child… why do you cry so hard?'_

She nodded; that much was understandable. "And…?" she prodded a bit when it seemed like he had fallen silent.

"They named her Phoebe," he said suddenly, "and Esty was Phoebe's mother. She was the one with fire affinity… she looked after me, and the other younger ones, like a mother too. She'd… sing. At night, when we were scared…" He shook his head, sighing in irritation.

_'But you must cry… for you were long destined… to forever live in sorrow… and forever sigh and mourn…' _

"They let Esty and her husband keep Phoebe for a year," he finished shortly. "When she was weaned, the researchers took her away. They wanted to find out if magical… resistance could be passed on. What her traits would be."

_'As your elders did before you… while they were alive…'_

Shirley felt her brows knit, but the way she was sitting she couldn't turn to look toward his face. "Oh, Kanzas," she murmured, "I'm sorry…"

He made a derisive noise, brushing it off. Oh, Soa, but he could hear Esty's voice now singing, clear as day, feel her arms around him the same as he was holding Shirley, her brown curls tickling his ear… "Esty didn't try to escape with us, you know," he mumbled, as if to himself. "She wouldn't leave Aglis when Phoebe might still be there. But when it failed, she was… executed, with the rest. It was all… wiped clean, to the Winglies. No scars. No… remembering."

'_Lullay, lullay, little child… child, lullay, lullow… into a cruel world… you have come…'_

"I'm so sorry," she told him again, wishing there was something she could do, something besides repeating her sadness over and over. She breathed in deeply, the scent of cedar filling her.

"You should be," he answered, though without malice. "Making me tell you that so you'd feel sorry for me anyway. But… it's all right. _I'm_ still alive - but do I deserve it?"

Finally twisting her finger out of Kyriaca's sleepy grip, Shirley turned awkwardly to look at him, her lips drawn up in a frown. "Of course," she whispered in a voice shaky from repressed tears. "Of course you do."

Kanzas scowled, going on as if he hadn't noticed, "Why do you want to hear these things, Shirley? You can't heal it, you can't bring them back; you can't do anything but cry over it. You've cried for me… you cried when you heard what happened to them."

"And you told me," the Dragoon answered quietly, "that you didn't want that."

"I know. I don't. I'm just trying to imagine, right now, what it's like to be capable of that. Crying for the deaths of people you don't even know."

She shook her head slowly, gaze downcast. "Maybe," she mumbled, "it wasn't for them. Maybe it was just for you. Because I can only imagine what you felt, all that pain, and… and I care about you."

"Don't you cry for me, Shirley," he answered, a furrow forming between his brows. "I almost think you'd never stop."

A little hesitantly, she raised her hand, placing her palm flat against his chest, over his heart. Her own was racing now, bringing a pink flush to her cheeks. _If tears were good for anything,_ she thought, unable to voice it, _if they could take away your scars I never _would_ stop-_

"You can't save me," he said, his lips forming the words but his voice barely there.

Yet she heard it still, her gaze burning hot locked with his. "Do you want me to?"

Kanzas bit his lip, moving backward until her outstretched hand could no longer touch him. "The more you know of me," he said tightly, "the worse it will be for you."

"And…" Shirley drew out slowly, a strange thrill running downward through her stomach as she considered the odd expression on his face, "if I say I'm willing to risk that?"

What could he tell her, really? She would love him, without a doubt, even if she knew - but she would love him then for _what_ he was, not for _who_ he was. She would love him because it was her duty to love her family no matter what. He wanted her to love him just because.

His breath felt as if it was coming painfully fast, one thought arising to fill his mind: _This… isn't a game anymore…_

Maybe it had never been one to begin with.

Yet he'd been playing with her mind ever since the beginning; at first he'd done it mostly to annoy the hell out of Belzac, to amuse himself with her reactions. But as time had passed, as she'd learned more and more about him and still did not turn away…

In one single, sudden motion, he jerked away from her, twisting up to his feet. Shirley raised her eyebrow slightly, questioning, but didn't press him, simply watching as he moved toward the window, peering out at the overcast afternoon sky and the brown stoniness of the buildings outside.

After a moment, he turned to pace back again, obviously thinking about something. When he reached the door, he paused there, reaching for the latch, and then pulled his hand back again, frowning.

"Kanzas?" she asked.

He took a glance at her expression in the low light and reached for the door handle again before yanking it back once more. What the hell was he doing, anyway? He'd just had this sudden, terrible urge to run away, put not only the door but the entire city between himself and Shirley.

Coming back over to the table near the far wall instead, he picked up the small paring knife she'd left, twirling it between two fingers, amber eyes fixed on its shine. He finally plopped down heavily in the chair there, regarding her darkly over the spin of the knife.

"Kanzas," she continued after a moment of silence, slowly getting to her feet and stretching the stiffness from her legs, "I don't understand. Tell me what it is you _want_."

He didn't respond, a brief flicker of something akin to fear alighting in his eyes. _Yeah, and what am I supposed to say?_ he thought angrily at her, rolling the handle of the knife between his palms now, watching the blade catch the firelight, flashing flashing flashing- _I want you, Shirley, and I can protect that faith in you far better than that Giganto ever could, and I can make you the strongest, holiest person this world will ever see, but I can't - I shouldn't love you like this and I _can't_ but it's not my fault because you don't know and don't you dare come over here looking at me with eyes like that-_

Despite his silent demand, she pulled out the other chair, swinging it around across from his and sitting down before folding her hands. Looking on, Shirley gave him a vaguely disapproving gaze as he ran his fingertip idly along the edge of the knife, rocking the thin blade gently back and forth. "What does that accomplish?" she asked softly.

"Not a thing," he answered promptly, gazing at her from under half-closed lids before taking a deep breath. "Shirley, if you don't move right now, I'm going to kiss you - and believe me, you don't want me to do that."

The young woman froze at his words but made no attempt to shift away, whispering back in a steady voice, "And… why is that?"

Kanzas this time didn't answer, staring down at the lines of blood beading up on his finger. When he finally looked up, meeting her eyes, he reached out in a quick movement and drew a streak of the bright red across her lips.

Shirley's breath stuck in her throat, and a moment later he leaned in and kissed her, dropping the knife to pull her awkwardly from her chair forward onto his lap. There was the coppery tang of his blood on her tongue, the slight, sudden pull of her hair in his fingers, the roughness of his beard against her face; she twisted to wrap her own arms up around his neck, slowly returning the kiss as her surprise subsided.

She had believed him when he'd warned her, but she had made the choice not to move and wanted him to know that, wanted there to be no doubt that she was agreeing to this, that she _wanted_ this. For some reason his skin was so cold now, the chill from his fingers startling, but his mouth was warm though she could still taste the blood…

When they finally broke apart, he pulled her hard against his chest before she could react, holding her tightly. "Don't… say anything," he whispered hoarsely, squeezing his eyes closed. "I told you it would happen - I told you."

Bewildered, the only thing the healer could do was tighten her grip around him, hug him back, letting out a long sigh against his collarbone. How much of this was real and how much a game to him? She had a feeling that even Kanzas didn't know the answer to that question.

* * *

Seven Dragoons sat in the council chamber, their emperor at their head - after so long, the table had finally been filled. A great deal had happened since their last meeting, and even more was promised, though it was a bit hard at the moment to get their minds around the thought that what they were proposing could actually be done.

For as long as any of them could remember, the Winglies' Death City had been a terrible, frightening image in the songs and stories of other species. There was no avoiding it, just as there was no avoiding death. Whether sooner or later, eventually one's soul would be called to Mayfil, and there it would be sent as its masters pleased to its destination. 

And, for this reason, the plan of attack was coming along slowly indeed. Despite the varying attitudes they had brought to the council table, all of the Dragoons, inwardly or otherwise, had their doubts. It was one thing to speak of troop movements and the flight plans of dragons, and it was another entirely to propose the destruction of the place where souls were drawn for 'judgment' - to take away their enemies' means of controlling them even after death. 

"The thing to remember," Rose was saying from where she sat, looking very much like she wanted to start pacing around the room, "is that Mayfil might be called a city, but it isn't one. There shouldn't be many Winglies there, but that doesn't mean it'll be any easier to attack." 

"It has to have _some_ kind of defenses, though," Syuveil rejoined, pushing his glasses back up absently. 

His eyes, and everyone else's, were on the Darkness Dragoon now, watching her. Though only a few of them hadn't known, everyone had now been made aware of her past as Melbu Frahma's slave, for with him she had once gone to the Death City and was now their only real source of information about it. 

"Rose?" Diaz prompted after silence fell again. "Do you know?" 

Shifting a bit uncomfortably, Rose nonetheless met their gazes without the shame that threatened to tinge her expression. "Maybe now there are, but there weren't before. Who would go there? Even Winglies don't go there without orders… so," she sighed, "no, I don't think there are any defenses to worry about." 

Though he normally would be making some kind of comforting gesture, instead Zieg next to her was sitting quietly, staring at the table and chewing on his lip. The tension around the table was thick as the Dragoons fought to adjust to the subject at hand, to take it seriously. 

Shirley leaned forward a bit, folding her arms. "Well… not all of us have been to the floating cities," she began with a quick glance to Belzac and then Damia, who sat looking even paler than usual, continually fiddling with the seashell hanging from her wrist. "We've all only heard about Mayfil from… well, you know, what people say. What can we expect when we get there?" 

"You must remember I was young," Rose started shakily, "and things may have changed. I mostly just recall the - souls, they must have been. Little flickers in the air. Moving like a stream through the sky." Zieg did move then, his hand covering hers on the wooden tabletop, and she let it stay there a moment before lacing her fingers together in front of her, shaking her head. 

"It must - must have generators to keep it in the sky, like all the others do. It's not made for Humans to come to at all. There are teleporters, and bridges appear if you take a step out between them - but," she continued with a kind of dark amusement, "you have to trust that they will. There are many rooms, where the souls are sorted, where some remain." 

Belzac let out a breath of air, thoughtful. "What I'd like to know is - well, we all know that the Winglies _can_ affect a soul after death. But I'd like to know how they're able to decide where… it goes." A little way down the table, Kanzas straightened a bit in his seat as well, listening intently. 

Rose frowned to herself. "I doubt they can, at least all on their own," she finally replied. "It would be their agreement with the Devildom that lets them play with souls like they do." Her gaze swept across the others briefly, her fingers clenching and unclenching reflexively. "You may have heard of devils waiting - yes, they do exist. As far as I was able to understand it, this agreement allows the Winglies to send their species' souls to Heaven, and the Devildom gets access to the rest." 

"But," Damia squeaked suddenly, her voice breaking the uncomfortable silence and surprising them, "but how can they do that? That's… that's worse than killing people…" She shook her head hard, the thought nearly bringing her to tears. "But then no matter what you do, or how good you are, it just doesn't matter!" 

"So we're going to change that," Zieg said strongly, obviously angered by the situation; he brought his fist down on the table, making some of the others jump. "Even if they'd never done anything else to deserve it, _this_-" 

It was Rose's turn to reach to calm him, slipping her hand over his clenched fist momentarily. "We… we all know, Zieg. We won't get any planning finished if we focus too much on what they've done." 

"That's right." Syuveil leaned forward, his expression of intense interest contrasting with the general pensiveness of the rest. "And to that end - we'll certainly encounter some of these devils when we attack the Death City, won't we? What can you tell us about them, Rose?" 

She sighed a bit, sinking back in her seat and rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Not much, I'm afraid. They were hardly allowed to crowd around Frahma, and I would not have gone off to explore." She said this flatly, her voice rather stiff and even. "As far as I understand it, they are mostly interested in souls, not the living, but I have no doubt that, if attacked, they would return the favor." 

He nodded sharply. When no one else seemed inclined to speak up, the scholar pressed, "What do these devils look like?" 

"I… only ever saw one at any distance at all." Rose paused, trying harder to remember the details of that day. "It was… gray, or maybe black. Just a shape, no features but legs. About this big," she went on, indicating something the size of a small cat. "It was on the shoulder of the Wingly Overseer." She made a face at this. 

"That small?" Syuveil bit his lip, the description apparently at odds with what he'd pictured. "I suppose they can change their form, then?" 

Diaz cleared his throat, holding up a hand to halt Rose before she could answer. "If the old teachings are true, and the devils' original purpose is to torment damned souls into atoning, then I imagine they can. However," he said strongly, overriding questions and also Kanzas' hissed intake of breath, "as you are living souls, they will have limited redress against you. Your main concern should indeed be the Overseer of the city, the Wingly called Ieo." 

Although she did not like the images that brought up, Shirley was inclined to believe Diaz, as he had spent many years, aided by Charle, researching the creation of the world, the species - all things that Winglies didn't want other creatures knowing about anymore. She sighed a bit, looking across her friends and then to the emperor. "What do we know about him?" 

"Her," Rose corrected, and her expression grew sourer. "I don't know much about her, really. She was there when I was, of course. But anything else about her, the connection with the Devildom - the Winglies had no need to speak of it, and so I don't know." 

"The details of this link are unknown to me as well," Diaz put in, running a hand over his beard. "Lady Charle would only emphasize that the connection must be broken. The core of this link resides in Ieo; she must be killed in order to complete the severance between Mayfil and the Devildom and restore the flow of souls to their natural destinations as according to their fates." 

Kanzas laughed shakily at that, a sound which he only halfheartedly tried to hide. _Their fates… all our fates. And with Mayfil gone we'll all go to Heaven, is that it? _He made no attempt to explain the laugh when they looked at him inquiringly, rocking his chair back on two legs. "Kill the Overseer, problem solved. Got it," he drawled uninterestedly. "So, what's between her and us?" 

"Like I said," Rose answered, irritation creeping into her voice, "there won't be regular troops there, as Mayfil itself would probably demoralize them too much for them to be useful at all. The devils would protect themselves, at the very least, and I don't know if Ieo can compel them to fight to protect _her_. If she can, they will be our opponents." 

Damia shuddered at that, pulling her knees up to her chest. Curled into a ball, she was barely visible over the edge of the table. Belzac next to her reached to brush her hair a bit before looking back, a frown on his face. Although he had been able to keep her away from the last battle, they would need all the Dragoons in order to attack one of the flying cities, no matter how dangerous it would be, or how much he'd rather she stayed behind again. 

"There are six generators," the Darkness Dragoon continued on, more in control of herself now that the talk was drifting back to more technical matters. "They're arranged in a circular pattern beneath the surface of the city, one in the center, and that keeps it upright. I expect they're shielded enough that we'll have to use our vassal dragons to break through and destroy them." 

"Well, there are seven of us," Zieg said, considering. He traced invisible lines on the table with his fingertip, picturing the layout of the city. "If some of us go for the generators, and others search out the Overseer, we should be able to kill two birds with one stone, don't you think?" 

Shirley's brows drew together sharply. "Oh, I don't know," she said before she'd even realized it. "It will be dangerous enough without everyone splitting up, and we don't know what exactly will be protecting those generators, or the Overseer." 

"I feel the same," Belzac put in shortly, still watching Damia. Even if they _did_ end up separating, he planned to keep an eye on her anyway. 

"We will have the dragons with us, you know," Syuveil disagreed mildly. "We'll have to stay with them, at least, in order to direct them. The flying cities aren't so big that we or our vassals would get lost within Mayfil if we were alone." 

"Don't forget, our goal _is_ to destroy it entirely," Rose said to him rather chidingly. Knowing the scholar, it was probably in the back of his mind to wander off and study the mechanisms of the city, even if he wasn't consciously aware of the thought. "If we can't get to the generators, then we take out its structure. One way or another, it'll fall, and all we have to do is make sure that the Overseer goes with it." 

No one seemed really satisfied with the plan as it stood, but there was little more they could do to prepare, as there was no good way to gather information on the Death City at this point in time. Diaz cleared his throat slightly, waiting until all eyes were on him before speaking. "Then we will go on the attack after the Year Festival; I shall have the ground forces set out in the hopes of drawing their attention from you. Be prepared to leave at all times from then on, my Dragoons." 

Kanzas let out a breath, inwardly trying to force his thoughts to calm. However, they just seemed to keep drifting back to the Death City, to souls that would be waiting there… "This 'Year Festival'. When is it?" What _is it, for that matter?_ he added silently, though not asking aloud so he wouldn't have to actually listen to an explanation. 

"The first day of the festival begins four days from now," the emperor answered him. As was typical, he went on for the benefit of those among them who hadn't lived in Gloriano before. "It lasts for three days and signifies the turning of the new year. The funerals are held for those who died during the winter, and the first planting of the season begins." 

"Fine, fine," he muttered. A week, then. He could manage until then well enough. It was just this not knowing what to expect… 

Diaz inclined his head a bit. "Very well, then. If there is no more discussion?" He waited briefly, but no one spoke up, and so he stood, drawing himself upright with a degree of ceremony. "Then this council is done." 

The sound of chairs scraping across the stone floor resounded as most of the Dragoons quickly got to their feet as well, glad that the rather awkward meeting was finally over. Rose and Zieg left just after the emperor, walking closely together as if for some unspoken comfort, and Syuveil went after them, Damia close on his heels. 

Belzac, also filing out of the room, was debating speaking to their youngest once more, but he paused just in the hallway, realizing Shirley had not come with them. This, he soon found as he turned back toward the council chamber, was because the Thunder Dragoon had remained at the table, apparently lost in thought. 

"Kanzas?" the woman asked, coming up to his side with her hands tucked behind her back, her plain turquoise robe rustling quietly with the motion. "Are you all right? The meeting is over now…" 

_Why does she have to bother…? Of course the thought of Mayfil disturbs him, considering how many he must have sent there._ Frowning absently in irritation, the half-Giganto waited just outside the room for her to finish. 

The russet-haired man snorted, shaking his head as if to clear it and letting the large, heavy chair rock backward on its two legs even further. "Yeah, sure. Could have saved a lot of time if they just said it came down to 'fly in there and blow crap up' at the start, you know." 

She rolled her eyes a bit. "We hardly knew it would at the start." She took a couple of steps toward the door, half turning back as she did so to look at him. "How's your arm?" she asked, retreating almost automatically into the safety of little pleasantries. 

"Fine," he answered carelessly. Truthfully, he still didn't have much feeling in it, but he wasn't about to get her worked up over something so trivial. He stretched back further momentarily before letting the chair clunk forward, getting to his feet and heading her way. "Think it's going to matter?" Kanzas asked suddenly, peering at her in the dim light of the room. "Us taking down Mayfil - think it's really going to make fate go the way it should?" 

"Yes… I think it will. It can't possibly be planned that the Winglies alone should receive Heaven…" 

"Ha." He crossed his arms, turning aside a bit to look out the window, sunset light reddening the brown stone of the towers that surrounded the council chamber. "So then fate doesn't exist right now - or was it fated that fate be stolen?" He spat to the side. "It's all so stupid. In order to believe in fate, I must also believe that, when I was born, Soa decreed 'when this child grows up and dies, he'll be going to Hell'. And, if this is true - well, I'll have… some things to say to Soa, when I meet him." 

Regarding him momentarily, she suddenly stepped closer, slipping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. The fabric of his shirt smelled strangely earthy, and she could see streaks of what had to be clay dust there. "That's why we're _stopping_ them, Kanzas - so we don't have to endure that false fate the Winglies decreed for us." 

He reached to cup her face in his hands, tilting her brown gaze up to meet his. "Don't be a child," he told her in soft, rasping tones. "We both know where I'm going to go." 

She didn't know what to say, just shaking her head a bit in denial of that, and then leaned forward to kiss him. He allowed her for just a moment before straightening back from her, his expression thoughtful. 

Finally letting go of him, Shirley lifted her own hands to gently tug his away. There were myriad red lines across his palms and fingertips, dark, scabby cuts, and when her brow furrowed he pulled his hands from hers, turning away again and heading straight for the door. "Kanzas!" she protested. "What-" 

"Don't bother asking," he said curtly, lips twisting into a smirk as he pushed past the Earth Dragoon, glancing up at the large man's stunned expression. He didn't slow, however, continuing down the hallway and once more out of sight. 

Shirley, also turning her eyes his way, was not prepared for the wave of guilt that crashed through her when she realized that her friend had seen the embrace. Even as her mind flew to think of some kind of explanation, part of her petulantly, almost angrily wanted to know why she had to feel guilty about it in the first place. _Calm down, _she berated herself, letting out a breath. "Belzac, why do you - what's the matter?" 

His hands clenched into fists reflexively at his sides, working out the anger in the motion. There were so many words that threatened to spill, hurt accusations and confessions he wanted to spew, but he finally chose his answer carefully. "I… he's going to break your heart, Shirley. I know it." 

"How do you _know_ that?" she finally rejoined. She had become aware of his feelings for her before now, but it had never been quite so apparent before, the words waiting just under the surface. Her only defense against the thought that she would have to hurt him was to ignore it completely, something that had become automatic over time. "There's a lot he hasn't let you-" _-or me, or anyone else- _"-know about him." 

"That may be, but he's still rude outwardly. How does that make it all right? Maybe whatever you think you see in him is the lie." 

"Why do I feel as though you'd like if that was the case?" she returned, crossing her arms in front of her. "You have to stop being so… overprotective, Belzac." Speaking her next words was like striking him - and she knew it would be, fighting away the guilt even as she said, "I think I'm in love with him - and I'm well aware what it's getting me into." 

His heart had plummeted into his stomach, which itself seemed to be burning with bile. However, he made a great effort to detach head from heart, to continue as if he only cared for her in a brotherly way. It was just so _hard_ to do- "No, Belzac answered harshly, "no, I don't think you do. And when he hurts you, I'm - I'm not going to wait around for you to come crying to me!" 

Shirley tensed, part of her horrified by the argument taking place. "I'm not a child anymore. I don't need you to… watch out for me. _If_ I've made a mistake, all right - then I'll deal with it myself!" 

"That's just fine by me!" He was only barely able to restrain some other childish parting shot, his movements jerky as he turned on his heel and left the council room, storming toward the spiraling stairs at the end of the hall. Despite his words, Belzac knew it would be a long, long time before he would ever actually turn his back on her. He was quite certain, anyway, that her broken heart would not be a matter of 'if'.

* * *

The free Humans of Gloriano, Kanzas decided, seemed to thrive on ceremony; every event, every change of the season called for some kind of recognition from them, and he couldn't help but wonder idly why that was. It probably had something to do with the Winglies, with generations of slavery - most things seemed to come down to that, one way or another. 

The first portion of this 'Year Festival' had begun with the burials yesterday, the long procession winding across the slushy fields outside the city to where the graves had been prepared. The ground had been frozen during the long winter season, and the bodies of those who had died had been preserved well enough by the cold. However, with the thaw, they needed to be interred, and over the years this grim task had become yet another ceremony. 

He hadn't felt like he belonged there, watching from a distance as shrouded corpses were borne along the trail to their final resting places. Syuveil hadn't even needed help to carry what was left of his friend, Shynn, though the others walked near him, putting aside what they'd felt about what the dead man had done, had tried to do. The hymns were of pity, sad dirge-like songs, and he'd realized yet again why there was no hope upon death, no promise of anything but Hell and the Devildom. 

_But we can change that? It just doesn't seem… possible, even with the spirits, _the Dragoon thought, absently resting his hand on his other wrist above the small violet marble hidden beneath his bracer. Sitting on the edge of a restraining wall, Kanzas looked down over the edge. This night, obviously to raise the morale of those who had just buried friends and family, bonfires and feasting were going on in the lower city, the lights of the fires like dots far beneath him. 

And then, after that, they would go to attack Mayfil. He shifted a bit, shoulders hunched under his black cloak, a brooding expression on his face as he thought about that dead city, and what he might find there. 

After a while, he became aware of footsteps above, shaking his head to break himself from his thoughts and glancing upward toward the tower stairs. Shirley, Damia, Rose and Zieg were descending, chatting to each other, and though it was too cold still for finery outdoors, the women and the girl had each done… _something_ with their hair. Kanzas' mind only registered that it was different, and he wondered why briefly before remembering the festivities below. He scowled, knowing what was coming, as they saw him and approached. 

"Kanzas?" Shirley said. "Aren't you coming down?" 

"Wasn't planning on it," he answered stubbornly, crossing his arms in front of him. "Don't see the point in celebrating the fact the bodies are finally out of the cellar." 

She frowned at him, heaving a weary sigh. "That's not what it's about. It's a new year - didn't you ever observe it before?" 

He uncurled and jumped down from the ledge, matching her long-suffering sigh with one of his own. "Never was much to celebrate in Aglis. We all got new shirts on Creation Day, and maybe new shoes if we'd outgrown them." He shrugged, glancing to the others. "Besides, I thought the new year had already come." 

"The Winglies observe it earlier," Zieg told him, "something to do with the position of the stars. Here in Gloriano it's always at the thaw, just before the first planting of the season." 

"And so it's finally my birthday." Damia was obviously delighted by this, nearly hanging over the edge of the wall as she peered down at the bonfires below. Many slaves and former slaves who didn't know their date of birth simply had their birthdays at the new year, and although she hadn't been born into slavery, her mermaid mother hadn't exactly kept track of dates, so it was as good a method as any. 

Rose smiled at her, holding out her hand. "Well, let's go down and have some fun, then," she said. The thirteen-year-old grinned, taking hold of it and nearly pulling her toward the stairs downward. Zieg, pulling his new wine-colored cloak back over his arms, chuckled softly and followed them at a slower pace. 

Shirley glanced to Kanzas, moving to go, and raised an eyebrow. "Well?" Despite the guilt she felt over her fight with Belzac, she was determined not to let it ruin her enjoyment of the festivities. He just worried too much, that was all, and she was sure that, soon enough, he'd get over it. 

"All right, all right, whatever," he griped, giving in, and rolled his eyes as she clapped gloved hands together happily. 

Walking silently, they headed down to the lower city, the noise of music and many voices growing louder and louder as they went. Rather than one large bonfire, there were many scattered through the streets, some small enough for a group of neighbors and others, out in the main avenues, around which great crowds were gathered. The smells of roasting meat and various herbs mingled from the various fires, creating an odd but pleasing scent in the smoky air. 

Most of Vellweb was out tonight, enjoying the unusual warmth so many fires provided. A few of the townspeople had their own instruments, makeshift or not, but most of the music was coming from one intersection, where crates had been stacked to form a kind of stage. Shirley recognized the woman she'd met before in the herb stall, Shar, and the rest of the players; Damia was already over with them, some of her shyness lost as she once again traded banter with the bard and was invited to play with them. 

The White-Silver Dragoon looked at the man beside her, sighed at the expression on his face, and leaned to kiss his cheek. "It's not _that_ bad. Try to enjoy yourself, hm?" Her voice lowered a bit automatically, brows furrowing. "It might be the last chance we have." 

Kanzas snorted; he knew that well enough. After a moment, Shirley heard someone calling her name, and raised her hand to wave at whoever it was, some friend he didn't know, and in the next instant she'd rushed off to greet the other woman, leaving him standing alone in the middle of a crowd of people he hadn't wanted to join in the first place. Not bothering to restrain his irritation, he gazed around at the townsfolk and their revelry, idly wondering how he might shape the tomb of this one, that one… 

Seemingly from nowhere, a large hand suddenly closed around the fabric of his cloak at his neck, twisting it tight as its owner shoved him back toward the wall. Torn from his reverie, Kanzas let out a hiss of anger, glaring up at Belzac, who returned the look with the same ire as he'd had during their first meeting. "What the hell do you want, Giganto?" 

"I want to know your intentions toward Shirley," he growled. "Are you going to marry her?" When the other man merely stared at him, he gave him an ungentle shake. "_Are you_?" 

"Marry her? Soa, no!" Kanzas finally laughed once he'd gotten past the shock of that question, his mirth growing at the expression of absolute loathing that crossed Belzac's face. "No, that wouldn't be a very good idea-" 

His grip on the other man's cloak tensed even more. "You really are an absolute bastard," he said almost wonderingly, though his anger grew with the realization of what that meant. "So you're doing all this to get her into your bed, is that it?" 

"You just ask her if that's what I'm about, Giganto. If you dare," the other Dragoon sneered back, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pressure of the cloth around his neck, pretend it didn't affect him. "Ask her if I've even hinted at that." 

Belzac glared down at Kanzas, attempting to judge the truth behind the statement. "You're up to something, I know you are-" His fist shook as he kept himself from lashing out, some part of him despite his rage well aware of the fact that they shouldn't be having a confrontation like this where the townsfolk could see. With an ill-hid growl of frustration, he roughly let go and turned to stalk away. 

_And you'd never guess what,_ he thought back smugly, reaching to tug his cloak straight again with an air of injured dignity. Standing back from the wall, he crossed his arms and moved back out into the streets, glancing this way and that. So many people were out tonight, and in the dim firelights it was hard to tell them apart at a distance. Ah, well… once he found Shirley, he could then find somewhere to sit and wait for her to finish 'having fun'. 

For her part, Shirley had ended up near where the music was playing, listening rather contently as she watched what was going on. Many people were dancing together to the lively songs, food and drink were plentiful, and children allowed up long past their bedtimes had begun to drop off in front of the fires, creating scattered warm piles of blankets dotted here and there. 

Diaz too was out tonight, the presence of two of his armored guards giving him away even though he was sitting before a fire like anyone, invited to share the food of a rather awed family. At least, in a setting like this, there was little chance of him being poisoned, she thought, looking at him momentarily, though naturally there were many other ways to threaten the emperor. 

She shook her head, not wanting to think about such things, at least tonight. Tonight, she wanted to enjoy the new year's festivities without having to think about what she and the others would have to do later to assure their people's freedom. 

A note or two out of place in the music made her pay attention to the 'stage' of crates again where the troupe was playing, raising an eyebrow. Damia, once more on the flute, was blushing fiercely and looked rather uncomfortable, though she soon caught the rhythm of the piece once more. 

Curious, Shirley looked around for some indication of what was bothering her, and soon enough the answer revealed itself in the form of a vaguely familiar man. It took her a few moments to place him until she suddenly remembered the day Diaz had declared war in Magrad. There was a man of Clan Serdio who'd been in the arena, and who had some kind of interest in Damia - interest he obviously still maintained. 

Biting her lip as the youngest Dragoon, obviously nervous or unsettled, lost her place in the song again, Shirley looked to the bard in charge of the troupe to attempt to bring her attention to the situation. However, she had already noticed; still singing, Shar narrowed her eyes contemplatively at the sandy-haired man causing the distraction, and with a casual gesture she indicated to the others to bring the song to a close. 

There was some applause and cheering, but most of the onlookers were obviously clamoring for another song so they could continue dancing. Several requests were shouted out, and she seized on one, an old favorite, waving her arm in a sweeping motion. "Oh, yes, we all know that one!" 

Giving Damia a wink as the group began the new, wordless tune, Shar hopped down lightly from the stage and moved purposefully toward Donar, her gaze intent on the one distracting her sometimes flute player. As unstoppable as an arrow's flight, she approached the unsuspecting man, grabbing hold of his wrists and giving him a tug forward. 

"What-?" Literally pulled from his daze, the clansman blinked at the woman in front of him. 

She didn't give him a chance to continue, smiling innocently at him. "Come, come, you can't stay standing there in the middle of the dancing. You'll just have to dance with me, then." 

Donar shook his head, protesting, "But I don't know how!" Reddening a bit, he amended, "My lady." 

"Nonsense," Shar laughed, pulling him toward the nearest circle of revelers. "I'll show you how." 

The music swelled again, going faster, and Shirley shook her head, trying to repress a smile. _Good,_ she thought, noting Damia had relaxed again, swaying unconsciously as she played. She'd have to find out what the man's interest in her was, if it was going to affect her this much. Perhaps it was just curiosity over her looks, though it certainly seemed like more than that… 

Feeling someone move up behind her, the red-haired woman turned to see, quirking a brow at the expression on Kanzas' face. "Something wrong?" 

He snorted, shaking his head. "Hardly." Actually, it was all turning out to be rather amusing, especially if Belzac was going to keep reacting that way, but he pushed it out of mind. "Let's find some food or something." 

Nodding in agreement, she joined him, starting off toward another of the fires. As they passed, she spotted Syuveil sitting slightly apart from one, and she gave him a wave; however, Kanzas tugged her along before she could stop and speak to him. 

The Jade Dragoon had barely noticed the greeting, anyway, idly turning the stick he was holding in the flames, the piece of sausage which he was roasting impaled on the end. In a rather glum mood, he watched the fire, deep in thought and not paying much attention to the families talking and celebrating around him. 

The voices around him quieted suddenly, but even with this warning he was still surprised by what he next heard. "Your food seems to be burning, Syuveil." 

Twisting a bit, he saw the figure of Lady Mille standing to his side, her Mininto guard just behind her; a blush rising to his cheeks, he quickly pulled the blackened meat from the heat and shook it to put out an errant flame. "Oh!" He got to his feet, giving the emperor's wife a respectful bow. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there…" 

"Oh, it's all right." Her face, framed by the white fur-trimmed hood of her cloak, appeared slightly weary, but otherwise she, like Diaz, seemed to have recovered from the poisoning completely. She indicated the low box which he had been sitting on before the bonfire. "May we join you?" 

"Please do!" He winced at the way that sounded, though she didn't seem to notice the eagerness, nodding toward his seat. 

She smiled, arranging her skirts over her legs as she sat. "Thank you." Matthi, still remaining close to her, gave a nod to the Dragoon, but said nothing, half-turned, dark eyes scanning the intersection they were in. 

Looking away from the Mininto, Syuveil made as if to offer Mille some of the sausage, his blush deepening as he remembered it was burnt. However, she held up a hand to decline, and gratefully he sat down again on the ground nearby. "Are you having a good time tonight, my lady?" 

"I am," she answered pleasantly, folding gloved hands in her lap. "You seemed rather… preoccupied, though, Syuveil. I was concerned…" 

"Ahh…" He stared down at his food, not terribly hungry, but he didn't want to waste it, so he staved off answering for a few moments by taking a bite. Light brown eyes watched him, and finally he had to respond, "Well, with the burials yesterday, I've… been thinking about Shynn." It had been a reminder of Mayfil's evil as well, the thought of his friend eternally doomed to Hell quashing his impatience to delve into the Death City's secrets. 

Mille nodded to that; it was her turn to not know what to say, and as she was obviously remembering the events surrounding Shynn's betrayal, he regretted telling her the truth. "He was your friend for a long time, was he not? Even the," she paused, "difficult circumstances surrounding his death won't simply wipe those feelings away." 

Syuveil shrugged a little, not meeting her gaze and instead returning his attention to the empty sausage skewer he still held. "Yes, he was. Still, I feel almost as if it's… wrong to miss him this way, after what he did. I… none of us had any idea he felt the way he did, you see. Maybe I should have seen it, paid more attention-" 

She reached over to pat the back of his free hand, the motion as intended quieting him. "Well, 'if wishes were horses', as they say. Though we might regret, that won't change what happened. Don't think you're to blame, dear Syuveil. As you know, there's a lot more woven into this situation than you, or I, the other Dragon Knights, or even our lord." 

"Perhaps," he agreed, fighting the blush that colored his face at her touch. "It's hard not to dwell on it, though. Shynn and I, we grew up in Zenebatos together, like brothers." He should have _known_. They'd escaped from there together, they were both going to be Dragoons… but, no, that wasn't what _Soa_ wanted, and so… 

"All the more reason for you to mourn him, as you wish to do. Syuveil…" The emperor's wife looked down, letting her hood hide her face from view, as her hair had been pinned up beneath it. "It distresses me to see you so upset. You were a great help to me when everything happened." Her expression darkened briefly as she obviously skirted mentioning the consequences of the poisoning. "I feel as though you're part of the reason I've recovered this well. I wish you could forget your troubles, at least for a while." 

He blinked at her for a few moments before clearing his throat in embarrassment and looking away himself. "If that's what you want, my lady, then I'll try." 

Mille smiled at him. "I'm glad you will." She glanced around a bit, as if searching for something, and when she looked back her smile had grown. "I know something that might help - join me in a dance, would you please?" 

The skewer he held clattered from suddenly-slack fingers on to the street's stone, and quickly he leaned forward to pretend to pat around for it to try to hide his surprise. However, Syuveil quickly gave up and left it where it was, rising to his feet and straightening his tunic. "I'd, ah… be honored." 

"Thank you." He offered his hand to help her up, and, taking it, she stood, looking back at her small guard as she did so. He seemed to be staring across the road toward a stack of crates, brows furrowed. "Is there a problem?" 

Matthi glanced back over, firelight reflecting in his dark eyes; the normally cheerful warrior's expression was oddly serious, though he managed a smile for them. "Oh, no, it's nothing. I'll just keep a look out while you dance, my lady." 

She nodded to him, taking the arm of the Dragoon next to her. "Let us be quick, Syuveil; the musicians are starting a new song." The two Humans started down the street to where the circles of dancers were forming; trailing behind, the Mininto cast one more glance toward the crates before shaking his head and hurrying to follow. 

Unaware of Matthi's scrutiny, Belzac sat on the other side of the wooden boxes, a half-empty mug of cider at his side. Elbows resting on pulled-up knees, he watched the swirl of people about the bonfires and listened to the goings-on around him, most of what he heard worsening his already bad mood. 

Drink - all of it home-brewed, and some of it unbelievably strong - had been flowing freely throughout the night. Since he had retreated to this out of the way place after confronting Kanzas, he had seen and overheard quite a bit. Some, like the drunken brawls, had been less irritating than the often equally-drunken romantic propositions. 

Scowling, the half-Giganto swished some of his cider around before taking a gulp. He was subjecting himself to this torture only to keep an eye on the children from the orphanage, the oldest of which had been allowed to join the festivities; occasionally one would run over to bring him another drink or regale him with some excited story, and he made an effort to seem happy for them. 

However, most of his wards were sleeping around the nearby bonfire right now, and, since he was not inclined to leave them there alone, he just remained sitting where he was, holding back winces at the conversation taking place not far away. 

"Drink, sir?" This from a woman, her voice a bit slurred and giving evidence to the fact she had had a few herself already. 

The response came from a somewhat youthful voice, a teenager's, if he judged it right; Belzac wasn't in much of a mood to satisfy vague curiosity by looking. "Er, no, no thank you." 

"Have you _ever_ seen so many people about?" 

"Ah, no, miss, I can't say that I have." 

"Hard to find privacy, though. Still, I daresay I know a place." The boy squeaked in surprise, cloth rustling as she draped an arm around his shoulders, and she went on with bemusement, "Ever been with a woman, soldier-boy?" 

His laugh at that was nervous and high-pitched; the Dragoon overhearing the predicament was beginning to feel a bit sorry for him. "No, no, I haven't. Er, miss, your dress is… er, falling down…" 

She giggled, cajoling drunkenly, "Oh, that's fine… come on, come on then, I'll show you what it's about. You're such a _pretty_ boy…" 

Luckily for the young soldier, he didn't have to respond to that as someone else broke in with an almost gleeful, "Well, well, well! Look what we have here!" 

"It looks to me like a… what do you call it… delicate situation, doesn't it?" a second responded, clearly amused. 

Belzac recognized _these_ voices, and he twisted up a bit, looking over the crates to find their owners and make sure. He was right - Shirley's brothers, Miles and Duncan, had joined the other two. Satisfied he wasn't hearing things, he settled back again so they wouldn't see him, finishing off his drink. He knew them well enough to know they'd ask him questions he didn't want to think about, or answer. 

"Sorry to spoil your fun," Miles went on, "but our friend here needs to go with us on duty now. I'm sure you understand; it's for your protection…" Amidst the boy's grateful stammering and the woman's slow protest, the two ushered him away from her quickly, trying to stifle their snickers. 

Slipping between passersby, they came nearer to where the Golden Dragoon sat, though not at an angle to notice him. Duncan finally couldn't hold back, letting out a guffaw. "Heh, you look white as a ghost, Sage!" 

His brother nodded, amused by the other soldier's discomfort, though not out of spite. "Funny, though - isn't that the sort of thing you wanted to avoid? Only… you know… the opposite." 

"It's not funny!" the boy called Sage protested, fiddling with his long brown ponytail, face gradually going from a mortified white to embarrassed red. "But… thank you. Come on… I really want to go somewhere else right now." 

Obliging, the three began to head off into the crowd again, Duncan lacing his fingers behind his head. "We go relieve someone on guard duty…" 

"Before we have to? Are you out of your mind?" 

Belzac shook his head when he could no longer hear them, sighing. He hadn't thought about Shirley's family, and what this argument might mean to them, either. He was friends with them, and they with his mother, and yet - it would be so awkward now, should he go to see them, despite the friendship. Somehow, he'd always just assumed… 

_Assumed too much, _he berated himself. _You always assumed the chance would still be there waiting for you to have the nerve to take it. It's your own fault, so stop - stop brooding about it._

Now, too, he was stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place. He knew Kanzas would hurt her in the end, knew it with a certainty not entirely born from jealousy. He regretted his angered words now; she would have too much pride to let him comfort her after he'd told her not to, and so she'd have to suffer it alone. 

After a few minutes of sitting there, turning his empty mug around in his hands, he felt an odd tugging feeling in the center of his chest, and a slight warming of the Dragoon Spirit in his vest pocket. A moment later, a familiar voice called out, "Belzac, are you there?" 

"Rose…" Zieg sounded as if he was trying to quiet her. 

She seemed to ignore it, their footsteps coming closer to his lurking spot. "If I followed the spirit right, he should be around here." 

The half-Giganto remained still, wondering if he wanted to talk to them when he felt like this. Of course, if they were tracking him through the spirit, it might be unavoidable. He frowned, setting the mug down quietly and preparing himself for the ordeal of 'acting normally'. 

The Fire Dragoon made a pensive noise, finally coming out with it. "Rose… look, do you really think this is a good idea right now?" 

She turned, almost sounding surprised. "What are you talking about? He ought to know about this." 

"Of course, but what if he already does? Besides," he appealed, "on a night like this - if he doesn't know already, you'll ruin it for him." 

Rose sighed. "Zieg, I understand that, but…" 

"Besides, isn't it really Shirley's place to tell him?" 

"…I know. But, still…" she went on grudgingly, "it's just not right." 

"I know what you mean. Maybe you should talk to her about it first," Zieg suggested. 

She snorted. "I would, but she knows how I feel about that man. She'll think I object just because of that." 

From where he was listening, Belzac restrained a sigh. So they'd noticed it too. At least he wasn't the only one unhappy about this, but what Rose had said was true, too. _She has to learn for herself, _he thought yet again. But he'd spent years protecting her from everything… 

Some of the din of the crowd quieted as the bells in the lower city began to ring out the passage of midnight. There weren't many bells in the city, as the metal was more useful elsewhere, and the sound was faint in this area, but still audible. 

"Mm…" the blond man told his fiancée noncommittally, his attention drawn elsewhere. "Hey - do you hear that?" 

"Hear what? The bells?" 

"Yeah. Did you know," he said, a smile in his voice, "there's a tradition that if you kiss someone by the last bell of the new year, you'll be with them forever." 

Rose chuckled softly. "It's a nice thought, Zieg, but there's no such tradition." 

"Well, there is now!" He put his arms around her, drawing her close, and as they kissed Belzac fought to keep from covering his ears. Finally, they pulled away, the man murmuring, "How about we just sneak back up to my room? No one will miss us tonight." 

"Zieg… you know we'll be training early tomorrow, and you need to rebuild the spirit levels that Wingly stole from you. You can't afford to be tired out." She didn't sound all that opposed to the notion, though, and he laughed. 

"Heh, don't worry, I can take it." 

"Oh, _can_ you?" Rose teased, taking his arm as they began heading for the stairs to the upper city. 

Belzac drew in a breath slowly, letting it out in an attempt to calm his irritation. This was _not_ what he wanted to hear right now. Maybe it was because of the way his thoughts were running, but now suddenly everyone seemed to be wrapped around each other, _taunting_ him - maybe unconsciously, but they were doing it all the same- 

There was motion above him as someone suddenly jumped onto the crates, teetering momentarily before righting herself. "Aha, Lord Belzac! I thought I'd spied a familiar bandana back here!" 

He peered up at the sudden arrival, frowning without realizing it as his rather drink-muddled brain fought to place her. "You're… Shar, isn't it?" _That's right… the herbalist's niece. When I went in to buy tea for Shirley- _He quickly cut off the thought, scowling. "You could have given some warning-" 

The blonde woman dropped into a seated position on top of the stack of boxes, swinging a stringed instrument on a strap around to her front. "What, you didn't hear the jangle?" She gave him a pleasant grin, multiple braids sliding over her shoulders as she leaned forward to look at him. "I've only come to play a bit, but if you want me to shove off just say so, sir." 

"Sorry," he muttered, vaguely embarrassed by the gruffness of his tone. "I didn't mean - it's just - I'm not having a good time right now." 

"Mm. Yes, I think I know." Seemingly settled in, the bard turned a few pegs, plucking to test the lute's tuning. "I would… comfort you," she said lightly, her fingers running across the strings, "but I expect it's still too soon for that, my lord?" 

He felt his face flush as he recognized her meaning, though this time he was only half-sure it wasn't from the drink, staring down at the tops of his knees. His turn now, was it? Everyone in Vellweb was on the verge of spring, and yet here he was lagging behind. Well, that suited him just fine right now. "I - yes, it is. I'm, uh, sorry-" 

Shar nodded, a faint smile curving her lips, the dancing shadows of the firelight changing her ambiguous expression with every flicker. "No matter. No matter. Will you let me play for you anyway, sir?" 

Belzac leaned back against the crate, turning his head to watch the swinging of her foot nearby keeping time. "Yes, please," he answered quietly. "I'd like that." 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Author's Note: Hallo! I'm very sorry this took so long. Family troubles that would be right at home on Jerry Springer kind of sapped away my creativity - but it seems to be back now, yay!

Just as forewarning - this is not the Mayfil chapter. I had to tie up some rather important loose ends in this one first, but don't worry, next chapter (the entire thing) will be that battle. Not trying to drag this out, but man, there's so much that has to happen before the end. Good thing the war lasts a couple years... well, for us. Not for them. Heh.

_"And I know you'll never understand  
I know you'll never understand  
You think you know me well  
You think you know me  
Well, think again  
I'm on fire and I'm insane and I'm all right  
Don't stand so close  
You've been blinded by the light..."  
_--Bob Schneider, "C'mon Baby"

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Chapter Fourteen

Despite its biting cold sting, Belzac could appreciate the feel of the wind whipping through his hair as he hurtled through the sky, tied securely to his vassal dragon's back. Somewhat ahead of him was the shape of the Jade Dragoon and his dragon, leading the way into what was sure to be a great deal of trouble.

It was possible to see flashes of light in the distance from as far away as the former Kashua Pass, a sign of very powerful magic being released. Though it was nowhere near Gloriano, the two had decided that it would be prudent to get as close as they could and try to discover what was happening, since it might affect their country in the future.

Besides, with something important to focus on, he could more easily push aside thoughts of how miserable he was feeling. _Always best to keep from being idle, _he reminded himself. It was better than drinking himself into being sick, anyway - and he certainly didn't plan to do _that_ again. Even now, the remnants of his headache still pounded in the back of his head, although the willow bark tea he'd had earlier had helped that.

As they drew closer, the half-Giganto recognized the peak in the distance, taller than any of the others surrounding it. The entire mountain range had once been home to many dragons, but no longer. When the Winglies had raised the Birth City into the sky years ago, their armies had killed enough of them that their bones had given a new name to the nearby mountain: the Mountain of Mortal Dragon.

There had always been one, however, that they couldn't kill, and Belzac felt his jaw drop as he saw the unmistakable shape in the sky. The Divine Dragon released a barrage of bright red-orange energy orbs toward some of the specks converging on it, tearing a clear path through what were obviously its Wingly attackers. The surge of hatred he felt nearly overwhelmed him until he realized it wasn't his own emotion, but rather Gleam's.

The young dragon was tense, limbs pulled in tight as he hurtled faster now toward the conflict. _Stop, calm down! _he pleaded, trying with all his will to rein his vassal in. Just as in the Eastlands forest months ago, the presence of the giant threat was making Gleam lose control. Belzac looked ahead quickly, and it seemed to him that Syuveil was having the same problem.

Cursing, he began to work his way out from under the halter ropes. It was like a stone wall had been erected between him and the dragon, and nothing he could do was getting through in the face of deep-rooted instinct. Calling on his Dragoon Spirit, he transformed, letting the updraft of air catch his wings and lift him free. He was relieved to see a similar shape separate from that of Tsavor as Syuveil's dragon, too, continued to charge. Hopefully, all those Winglies were too caught up in fending off the Divine Dragon to notice they had been there.

Here, high above the ground, there were only thin wisps of cloud to provide dubious cover. However, it was enough to hide the two Dragoons as they met up, especially as all eyes were focused on the battle occurring. Even at this distance, faint shouts were audible from the Wingly platoons as they became aware of the new dragons crashing in on the fight, but this was soon drowned out by draconic roars, each challenge loud and piercing and making even Belzac and Syuveil cover their ears. The Winglies scattered as the Divine Dragon threw its head back to respond, swirling around to retake their positions against the mountain.

Wincing, Belzac finally let his hands fall, shaking his head. "I couldn't stop him," he told Syuveil unhappily, his gaze fixed on what he could see of the dragons through the mist of cloud.

The Jade Dragoon sighed in agreement. "The same for me," he replied tersely. "We should still try to get through to them, though. They certainly haven't gotten themselves into a very good situation."

Belzac nodded, though a bit doubtfully, and moved to follow Syuveil when the other man descended toward the chaos, breaking through the cloud cover that was hiding them. He didn't take his eyes off the wildly-moving form of the Divine Dragon - didn't dare to, not when a stray bolt of the energy spraying from its chest could incinerate him, Dragoon armor or no. _So many Winglies… what in the world are they trying to do here, kill the dragon? Is it even possible?_

Although the Mountain of Mortal Dragon, where the Divine Dragon nested, was rather close to the Birth City, it wasn't close enough that the dragon could attack it from here. Since all of this wasn't exactly in defense of it, then, what was really going on?

The two dragons lunged for the larger one, heads whipping and claws scraping along the Divine Dragon's scaled hide, Gleam clamping his jaws around the joint connecting one of its wings to its back. It roared again, flaring, and did a roll to try to shake him off; however, the young Golden Dragon held on tenaciously, attempting to bite past its opponent's natural armor. Tsavor went for the throat, but was knocked back by a blow from the bigger creature's huge blunt head. Righting himself, he simply went back at it, heedless of Syuveil's mental pleas to stop.

As the Dragoons drew closer, trying to break through the roil of territorial rage that weakened their bonds with their vassal dragons, two of the Winglies rose above the rest that waited along the edge of the mountain's crater. Although normally it might have been hard to tell them apart from any of the others, the visible auras of magical energy that surrounded these two were indication enough that they were no mere soldiers, or even officers.

With his gray skin and unique features, Melbu Frahma was unmistakable, but Belzac wasn't so sure about the man with golden wings next to him. In fact, he would have thought it to be Faust if he hadn't known that the magician had gone down with his precious flying fortress. No, this older Wingly had to be one of Frahma's other subordinates, and, judging from the looks of him, a rather powerful one at that.

"Frahma - and that must be one of his Overseers. Teofilo, I think, of Aglis," Syuveil said, confirming his suspicions. He drew up closer to make himself heard over the sound of the battle, watching the motions of the Winglies closely. "He's a magician, but I don't think even they together could kill the Divine Dra-"

The scholar stopped speaking, his mouth hanging open, but before Belzac could even ask him what was wrong, he realized it for himself. The Overseer had raised the staff he was carrying into the air, its green jewel pulsing before sending out a wave of energy. The aura traveled outward in a circular pattern from the curved head of the staff, enveloping the army, the three battling dragons, and, at its edge, the watching Dragoons as well. Although the main wave immediately dissipated, it left an emerald haze behind to tint the air around them.

Belzac tried to choke in a breath, looking around quickly. The wings of his armor seemed to flap much too slowly to keep him up, and his limbs felt as though leaden weights had suddenly been attached to them. He had to fight to keep a grip on his axe; apparently, Syuveil was feeling it too, struggling to raise his own weapon up to his shoulder. _A weakness spell?_

Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be affecting the Winglies, and at any rate, his own uncertainty paled in comparison to what he was feeling over the link with Gleam. The young Golden Dragon was almost frantic with confusion, struggling to disengage his claws from the Divine Dragon's scales. Tsavor, too, began to thrash away, and as their rage turned to fear, the Dragoons seized the chance to resume calling their vassal dragons back.

It would be best to just get out of here and report what they'd seen to Diaz before they too were forced to fight, which in this state Belzac wasn't at all sure he could manage. Well, no matter if the Divine Dragon was killed here, or Frahma, or both - it would only benefit Gloriano in the end.

Frahma, too, was taking the opportunity, lifting the fiery sword he carried and darting forward. Although wingless, he moved as easily through the air as any of his species, diving toward the gray void dragon with his weapon, shimmering red and orange, extended before him. The sound of the odd blade hitting the dragon's head was loud and grating, almost metal against stone, and yet, much to the shock of the onlookers, great tears appeared in the supposedly impenetrable hide. In a delayed fashion, the wounds had opened up seconds after the cuts were made, and, by that time, Frahma had already moved on to the next slice.

The dragon roared in pain and rage, rows of razor-sharp teeth snapping at the Wingly leader, but he quickly glided back and to the side, gesturing in an obvious signal to a waiting group of soldiers. Immediately, part of the army resumed its magical attack, the rest held back for some still-unknown purpose.

Infuriated, the Divine Dragon flapped its wings hard, pushing itself free of the two smaller reptiles. Attacked on all fronts, and weakened by the spell of the staff, it reared back, stretching out its neck almost as if exposing its throat to its enemies. Even with the spell in place, however, the feel of magic was incredible as the power it gathered seemed to travel down its spine, gray scales shimmering a bright greenish-white in sequence until it reached the point where its neck connected to its body.

Belzac only had time to see Frahma swoop far out of the way before the dragon let its head fall sharply down past its chest. _He's running? Not good- _The collected energy shot out from between its shoulderblades in a thick, bright beam that seemed to split the very sky before it, the air rippling visibly. The two vassal dragons were directly in its path, and although Gleam managed to roll his barrel-like body to one side, Tsavor was not so fast-

There was a sickening crunching sound as the beam slammed through one side of the Jade Dragon's neck, leaving a gaping semicircle dripping with thick dark blood after it passed. The beam hit a peak on the other side, the sound of the ensuing explosion drowning out everything else as its concussive blast knocked the smaller Winglies and Dragoons tumbling into the air. Shards of rock sprayed upward and outward, pelting everything in the area with tiny, sharp projectiles.

Belzac righted himself as soon as he was able to, shading his eyes with his free hand as he tried to peer through the dust and figure out what was happening. Tsavor's energy wings now extinguished, his body plummeted toward the mountain range below. Trailing streamers of blood, his head flapped backward, still fastened to his neck by the remaining ropy cords of muscle and skin.

It was inconceivable - the Dragoon felt his heart lurch once in his chest before pounding even faster, shock rendering his body numb. So intent on the appalling sight before him, he didn't realize what was happening to Syuveil until the bright flash of green-tinted light warned him. Nearby, the scholar had dropped his spear in order to clutch at his own throat, his contorted figure barely visible past the glow, and, with a sudden start, Belzac realized the man's armor was disappearing.

Rushing to catch him, he maneuvered him over his shoulder, annoyed at how hard it was to do so. Between holding onto both Syuveil and his axe, his arms seemed strangely like they were made of clay, and he didn't like the feeling of weakness, especially when it was something he had rarely experienced before.

Worried about being spotted by either the Winglies or the vengeful dragon, and afraid the weakness was going to get worse, he did the only thing he could think of and dived down after Tsavor's body, aiming for the small puff of snow he had seen that indicated where in the mountains it had landed. No one would be concerned about them, at least not while the Divine Dragon still raged. _Gleam, come on! Down here, quick! _Belzac commanded, gratified to feel the dragon's acquiescence a moment later. It was one sliver of hope in what was turning out to be a disaster.

There was a popping inside his ears as he descended, the air still thin but becoming easier to breathe. The vassal dragon's fall had uprooted a swathe of evergreens, its body finally coming to rest in a small notch between two hills, and he touched down next to it, golden armor boots crunching down the layers of snow. Its wound was still smoking, hissing against the cold, but he didn't have any time to examine the damage, dropping his axe in order to attend to Syuveil.

The man was thrashing in pain, fighting off the half-Giganto's attempts to restrain him almost too easily, and Belzac frowned, shifting his weight to keep his balance. "Syuveil! Calm down, it's me!" _Is it that damn spell, still? _He shouldn't have been having trouble with this-

Wincing as he caught an elbow to the back of his head, Belzac finally twisted to one side, leaning down to let the other Dragoon drop into the snow. Syuveil hardly seemed to notice, gasping hoarsely and clawing at his own neck with crooked fingers, and Belzac banished his armor as quickly as possible before lurching to grab hold of his wrists and pull his hands away. He was relieved to find that his strength had returned to him, scowling at the long scrapes fingernails had made before he could stop him.

"Syuveil! Syuveil, listen to me!" It was the dragon's death affecting him, he knew it, and he also knew he had no idea what to do for the suffering man. Was he just feeling the aftershock across the link, or - his breath caught - was Tsavor still dying? "Syuveil!"

Although his agonized thrashing was as strong as ever, he was no longer any match against Belzac. Pinned down, he continued to struggle briefly before his body suddenly lost all resistance, his head lolling back into the snow. His spectacles, having been thrown off, lay half-buried nearby, green eyes staring upward unblinkingly.

The Golden Dragoon cursed, sitting back to look down at him. Syuveil still breathed, his chest rising and falling shallowly, but his skin was very pale, and the crusty snowdrifts and cold, thin air here were not helping the situation. He turned to glance at the great bulk of the dragon's body. Gleam, who had landed on the other side of Tsavor, remained perched on a rocky outcropping above them, seeming to watch both them and the sky carefully in turns. Sensing his Dragoon's troubled state, he rumbled low in his chest as if in sympathy.

"What am I supposed to do now?" he asked the dragon rhetorically, and, naturally, received no response.

However, he didn't have to wonder for long, as Syuveil began to stir, startling him. Belzac waited cautiously in case he would lash out, but the other man didn't seem to be completely awake yet, muttering softly, "Kill it kill it-"

He repeated the Jade Dragoon's name, but it didn't seem to register. "Come on," he pleaded now, "wake up. We need to get you back to Vellweb…"

"-King of Dragons - kill it kill it - seven, kill it mine not yours - seven glares - kill it _now_-"

"Syuveil, stop this!"

"-the soul pieces, keep them safe - kill it kill the King kill the slayers kill it - all the power the King the King the slayers slay the King slay the souls kill-"

"All right, that's enough! We're going back right-" Belzac began to push himself to his feet, intending to carry him back to the city if he had to, but another, familiar sound from above stopped him short, and he tilted his head up toward the sky. _No! No, they didn't! _

The rhythmic pulsing noise of Winglies in flight met his ears, a voice following directly after: "There they are!" He barely had time to register what he was seeing as three brown-armored soldiers shot down toward him, weapons extended for the charge.

Hurriedly, he reached back for the handle of his battleaxe, which was lying behind him in the snow, taking it with him as he twisted upright. He pivoted, bringing one foot down on the other side of Syuveil in the hopes that he could shield him somehow, and then swung the blade hard sideways as the first rapidly-approaching Wingly descended at him.

Sharpened metal grated against armor, the half-moon blade embedding itself deep in the man's side, and he heard a cry from the Wingly as he jerked the axe back with a grunt, heard him hit the ground and roll downhill a ways, but he didn't have time to follow up. Jabbing the spiked end of his weapon backward under his arm at the next attacker, he then stepped over the other Dragoon's prone form once more and swung the axe around and down.

The axe struck at an angle between shoulder and throat, just inside the ridged protection of his armor. Blood spurted from the severed artery, as bright as the soldier's wide crimson eyes, and Belzac kicked him back quickly so he wouldn't land or drop his weapon on his friend below. Fast and precise, he shifted the blade to his other hand and let it fall, neatly severing the fallen Wingly's neck and ending his suffering. Flipping it back into both hands, he turned once more to meet the final one - and found nothing.

Slower than the rest, the last Wingly had been luckier as well and had avoided the slaughter his comrades had unknowingly flown right into. Muttering disbelievingly about Gigantos under his breath, he arced back up into the air behind the tall fighter, coming to a halt before drawing his hand down from his forehead and tracing a shape in the air. It hung there for a moment, glowing brightly, and then the wind began to blow.

Belzac, catching his breath, felt it stick in his throat as his hair and cloak suddenly began to whip around, and he looked about quickly to try to find his enemy. However, it was too hard to see, the snow that had coated the mountainside now filling the air. Cursing under his breath, he dropped down to hands and knees, using his body to protect Syuveil from the spell. The cold winds howled around him, streams of air glowing yellow-green as they whipped painfully against exposed skin. Gritting his teeth, the Dragoon tried to hide his face, waiting it out as best he could.

The air dissipated rather quickly once it had rushed through the area, the sound drifting into silence. Hovering above, the Wingly looked down at the two shapes sprawled below and noted with near-glee the fresh spatters of blood that stained what remained of the whiteness around them. Drawing his scimitar, the soldier lifted up a bit higher, preparing to dive before that Giganto could struggle back upright. Neither of them would stand a chance, and he would return to Frahma a hero-

However, he had forgotten about Gleam. All he heard was a dull low-pitched roar before the earth rumbled warningly beneath him, before he felt himself being sucked downward despite the magic of his wings that should have kept him aloft. Scrabbling frantically at nothing but thin air, the Wingly screeched in panic just seconds before several spikes of stone ripped upward out of the mountain. They drove up through his body, cutting off his scream as rock burst through his jaw, and held him impaled there briefly before crumbling and burying him beneath the rubble.

The Golden Dragon roared again, as if pleased with himself, and leapt from his outcropping with strange grace for such a bulky creature. Belzac, pulling himself up shakily, peered around to find the area much different than it had been when they'd landed. Stone was now mounded where pristine snowdrifts had been, and what snow remained was as dirty and reddened as its surroundings. Tsavor's corpse remained unmoved by the wind spell, still wedged into the cleft in the mountainside.

Despite this, he managed to laugh, though only for a moment as the expression made his torn face sting in pain. "Thank you, Gleam," he murmured, looking down to find Syuveil mostly unhurt, although covered with streaks of blood. His eyes were still unfocused, and although he had stopped repeating nonsense, he was shivering violently. "We… need to leave," Belzac said aloud, both to the dragon and his friend. "Before any more of them find us here. Shirley will help you." At the moment, he hardly realized that it was Planting Day, that she wouldn't even be there, and that he didn't want to be thinking about her anyway.

He moved to pick the man up, wincing as flayed ribbons of skin brushed against rough woolen fabric, sending a dizzy jolt of pain through him. Gritting his teeth and trying to ignore it, he turned toward his vassal dragon, calling him to come closer. However, the brown-haired man groaned suddenly, scrubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands and making a feeble attempt to struggle upright. "No, you… have to…"

Although quite concerned, as Syuveil was proving to be delusional, he humored him anyway; this was still the most coherent he'd been since his dragon's death. He looked down at him, answering, "Have to do what?"

"Take him with - you have to take him with us!" He sounded so determined, even after what had happened, that the half-Giganto stopped in mid-stride. "Do not leave him here, do _not_ - ugh, I can't _see_-"

Sighing, Belzac looked about quickly for the missing glasses, not holding out much hope. However, he spotted the earpiece sticking up out of a grungy snowdrift, and, gingerly helping the other man back down onto his feet, he let go of him to sweep them up. However, the moment he did so, Syuveil collapsed hard onto his knees, cursing and barely managing to catch himself with his hands.

Moving a bit too late to catch him, Belzac merely held out the glasses to him. What point was there in bringing the body of a dragon back to Vellweb with them? He looked down toward the fallen creature, and then frowned as a flicker of movement caught his eye. "Stay here a moment," he told him, trying not to look as concerned as he felt as Syuveil took the lenses, fumbling them back onto his face. Biting his lip against another wince of pain, he leaned to take up his axe again. "I'll go have a look."

The other Dragoon nodded shortly, perturbed, and, without another word, Belzac turned and picked his way across snow-covered rocks down the hill toward Tsavor's corpse. As he neared, he could see the source of the motion, the smaller figure of the first Wingly he'd disabled. Having rolled downhill to be stopped by the dragon's bulk, the soldier was now flailing feebly. There was a soft hissing noise, almost like breathing, which gave him pause until he saw the blood that trickled from the gaping hole in the vassal dragon's neck. The Wingly's flesh was sizzling where the dragon's blood touched it, and even nearly bled dry himself, he was still trying to push out of it.

He made a face of disgust tinged with horror, the fumes from the wind dragon's venom making him cough even at this distance. Still, he continued forward, lifting the axe even as he skidded down the incline. _You're too kind, _he admonished himself silently, though that didn't keep him from once again bringing it down on the Wingly's neck almost before he'd come to a stop. They were his enemies, but he wasn't going to stand by and watch even an enemy die that way.

The deed done, he quickly searched the body for any potions or magical items it carried, hating himself for it as he did so. There was nothing, however, and, feeling rather light-headed, he averted his eyes from the mess and began to back away. Shaking his head sadly, he wiped the blood from his blade and sheathed the axe in the sling on his back before limping back up the hill. Tsavor's body was obviously poisonous even in death, and he wasn't going to force Gleam to have anything to do with it - at least, not right now.

Forestalling any arguments, the larger man reached down, grabbing the scholar's wrist and dragging him to his feet. "We'll have to come back. Gleam can't carry him right now, and you need to get back to Vellweb." He could only hope that the strange reaction to the dragon's death would end soon, and without any lasting effects. Otherwise, if this was what happened when the vassals died, what would happen to the rest of them if-?

"No!" the brown-haired man shouted, trying to fight away from him. However, Belzac was prepared for this by now, pulling Syuveil back and pinning his arms to his sides before half-dragging him toward Gleam. "Don't leave him here! Stop! I'm not going!"

Gritting his teeth, the Golden Dragoon did his best to hold on to him, reminded oddly of having to endure one of the children's tantrums. _At this rate, even if I do get him on the dragon, he'll throw himself off before we get there!_ When flailing hands began to aim for the raw flesh exposed by his torn skin, however, he'd had enough. "Sorry-" Trying to aim carefully, he dealt the man a sharp crack on the back of the head, sighing as Syuveil suddenly tensed up and then fell unconscious over his arm. "Forgive me, my friend, but it's for your own good. And mine."

No longer hindered by his sudden madness, it wasn't long before they were in the air again, Tsavor's twisted bulk left behind on the mountainside. Belzac, making sure to keep a good hold on Syuveil in case he woke up mid-flight, glanced down at it once as they ascended before turning to look behind them. Clouds obscured his vision of what might be happening with the Winglies and the Divine Dragon, only vague flashes of light giving evidence to the fact that the fight was still going on at all. It was no matter, anyway, who won or lost; as far as he was concerned, Mayfil could take the lot of them.

* * *

Meanwhile, perched on the cliffs overlooking Vellweb, a white-silver dragon stretched out thin wings, eager to be on her way. Ducking away from the brief spray of energy as it passed by his face, Kanzas scowled at Eremi, who let her jaw drop open in a reptilian laugh.

Seated up above on her back, her Dragoon patted her with one hand, trying to restrain her own laughter. "I know, I know, just a moment-"

"If you want to go, just go," he grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest and squinting up at her. The way the afternoon light was reflecting off the vassal dragon's shiny hide, he may as well have been looking into the sun itself. "Don't let me stop you."

"You're not," Shirley said, shaking her head. "I just wasn't expecting you to come see me off."

Kanzas shrugged, idly picking at the scabs that ringed his left bicep with his other hand. They itched, and it was worth the annoyed look the woman cast him as he did so. "I didn't. I just saw the dragon up here, is all, and it's better than being around everyone and their hangovers." Predictably, most of the citizens of Vellweb were feeling the effects of the revelry of the night before. "You don't have patrol today." Although he was curious, he didn't want to come right out and ask her where she was going, somehow. It felt like something the Giganto would do, and the thought made him ill.

She answered his unasked question anyway, smiling down at him. "Oh, no. It's Planting Day today, of course, so I'm just heading back to help my family. It's not far, but if it wasn't for Eremi, I wouldn't be able to go. She doesn't mind the trip, though, so…" Realizing that she was rambling, Shirley trailed off.

The Violet Dragoon had gone very still, and it was a long moment before he forced his lips to move again. "…Family?"

Shirley gave him an odd look at his pause, once again patting Eremi's back as the dragon shifted, silently urging her patience. "Mm, yes. We - they - have lived in central Gloriano for years now, on a farm there. Since we were all freed." Oblivious, she went on, "But the eldest two of my brothers are here in Vellweb with the army, so I'm sure they'll especially appreciate an extra hand this year."

Her voice just a dull roar in his ears, Kanzas stared at her, almost forgetting to breathe. The part of him that was still logical tried to point out that of course his mother would have remarried after so long, would have had more children, but that part was immediately overridden by the mental cry of righteous indignation. No, it wasn't _right_ - she wasn't _allowed_-!

The red-haired woman peered down at him again, noticing how oddly pale his skin had gone, how silent he was. "Is something wrong?" she asked, making as if to slip out from under the harness rope.

"No," he gritted out, staring up at her familiar features. He clenched his fist at his side, turning quickly to look back out over the city. "Didn't think you had… little brothers."

"Oh, yes, four of them, and two sisters. Though their father isn't mine, really." His eyes widened, and mistaking it for surprise, she went on, "I had an older brother once, but he and my true father were… sold away." Unhappy at herself for bringing it up, she looked down at the pearly scales beneath her. "I don't really remember them, though. I've even forgotten their names. Mother didn't like to be reminded, I think, so…" She sighed, somewhat ashamed by that fact. "Anyway, it doesn't-"

His laughter stopped her short, its sound mocking in a way, though with a tinge of desperation. Alarmed, she could only watch as he nearly doubled over, clutching his stomach. _Stupid, stupid!_ the Dragoon thought madly, shaking his head at the look on her face. He felt lightheaded, swaying dizzily as he straightened up again. _All this time, and it was all wasted!_

"Kanzas?" Shirley breathed, wondering at this before feeling a surge of guilt rise up in her stomach in realization. His 'family' had been killed in Aglis, hadn't they? And here she was going on about hers being sold as if it was something unusual. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

He didn't answer, didn't even stop laughing, his shoulders still shaking hysterically as he turned away, moving swiftly down the path back to the city. Almost scared by this odd reaction, she called after him, but he didn't seem to hear her, his figure soon lost as he disappeared behind a boulder at the curve of the trail.

Concerned, the woman debated following him, but after a moment she looked back to her impatient dragon instead. Whatever was wrong, it wasn't very likely he would tell her, even if she _did_ catch up to him. Perhaps, when he had calmed down, she could speak to him. _Let's go, then, Eremi, _she told her vassal dragon, shifting her grip as the creature immediately crouched and leapt into the air, wings beating to bring her higher. However, Shirley's dark gaze remained fixed in the direction of Vellweb, and the one returning there, as long as she could see them.

* * *

Loud, raucous voices, thick pungent smoke, the wooden clatter of mugs, the slosh of liquid; it all swirled around him as though he was on a rock in the eye of a storm, untouched by any of it. It was a small tavern, tucked tight between buildings in the lower city, and on this particular night filled near to overflowing with rowdy people relaxing after a hard day's work.

He had a mug of ale between his hands resting on the small table. Back in the corner, away from the fireplace and the main room where the commoners of Vellweb joked, gambled, flirted and fought, Kanzas sat alone, watching the spin of its color in the dim light.

Maybe, when he felt like this, it was better not to think at all, not to look around, to notice anything. It was better here than in the upper city, though. Here there was the smell of smoke and dirt and sweat, and the noise of people who didn't pretend. He was _tired_ of pretending… pretending he didn't care. Pretending he did. He belonged here more than he'd ever belong in the towers above Diaz's palace.

He had been forgotten. _Forgotten_! The way his chest ached, he felt as if he'd been stepped on and beaten, every rib snapped. She hadn't called for him - the slavers had dragged him away screaming, and she hadn't called back for him. She'd instantly wiped him from her mind, had six goddamned other brats to replace him, and he'd spent years in Aglis clinging to the memory of her smile, surviving in the childish hope that sometime soon, any day now, his mother would come to rescue him and take him back home.

_'I had an older brother once…'_

Suddenly, he felt the touch of an arm draping itself over his shoulder, breasts against his back, and he flinched slightly, dragged into the present. A wisp of smoke curled down next to him, drifting gently from the lips of the woman behind him.

He took a deliberate drink before he turned to look at her, taking in features little different from any of the others who had bothered before. Her face had a slightly used look about it, her long dull black hair pulled back in a careless tail, and layers of well-worn clothing draped her form.

Taking her pipe from her mouth, she gave him a crooked, knowing smile. "Ye're looking lonely, sir."

Kanzas gave a snort, setting his mug on the table and leaning back in his chair. "On a night like this?" he asked mockingly. "Couldn't be."

"Stands t'reason," she answered, nonplussed. "A dragon lord, and by yerself, in a place like this. Stands t'reason you might be wanting company."

"Might be," he agreed, amber eyes narrowing even as a thin smile crept across his face. "Might not be yours."

The woman chuckled, tendrils of hair trailing down over his shoulder as she tilted her head, breathing gently against the side of his face, smoke swirling around them. "Ah, but you ain't shoved me off yet. Them other dragon lords, if they even come down hereabouts anymore, there ain't no chance with them. Everyone knows."

"Well, I'm not like them," he said darkly, reaching for his ale and knocking back the last dregs that swam in the bottom. "Not-" he plunked it back again hard against the wood, "-at all."

"S'pect that's a good thing for me," she chuckled softly, with a forefinger tilting his head up and kissing him. He could feel a spark of static between them as their lips touched, and she jerked back with a sharp laugh.

He grinned, the warmth of the alcohol in his chest swimming upward through him, giving the room, the woman's face, a pleasant hazy sheen. "You've got water affinity, don't you. That always happens. Water and lightning, when we touch…" He ran his fingertip up her arm, across the wool shawl she wore, and then brushed her nose, giving her another light shock.

She laughed again, standing back slightly, and took in a long draw on the pipe before exhaling a thin streamer of gray. "Even when we-?" she asked teasingly.

"Pretty much." Kanzas gave her a glance from beneath hooded eyelids, waiting.

If she noticed the odd glint in his eyes, the strange tension underlying his voice, she didn't show it. "I got a room," she offered.

He stood, the tavern swaying a little before him, and he bit his lip as it steadied. Turning to face her, he ran a hand back through his russet hair, replying, "Mine's better. Unless you're afraid of heights."

"Can't say I am." She slid her free arm through his, knocking the ashes from her pipe into his empty mug and tucking it away under one of the layers of her clothing.

Ducking around some of the other patrons, loud and unmindful of everything around them, they stepped out into the nighttime chill, the stars and the eternal moon glittering coldly above. As the ground passed beneath his feet, Kanzas glanced upward at the sky, almost letting her guide him down the long, narrow street that would eventually lead toward the upper stairs.

She was silent as they walked, and finally he whipped his head back down, meeting world-weary eyes that held just a glint of curiosity. "Afraid of me?"

She chuckled as if it had been a joke, shaking her head. "Can't say I am… sir."

"Should be." He grinned, feeling her tense just slightly, her arm tightening around his, but then she giggled to dispel the tension. He laughed, too, as if to set her at ease.

"Gotta say, sir," she started as they walked, "well, you sure we oughta go way up to the upper city? They say ye're courting Lady Shirley, and if she sees, well… I ain't got much use for them real nobles, y'know, even with them being Human, but I can't say I wanna see the lady sad, if you catch my drift."

He stopped, grabbing hold of her arm to pull her back around when she kept on going. He searched her face, and then, smiling disarmingly, leaned in close. "Gonna tell you a secret," he whispered. "Shirley's my sister."

The woman's eyes grew wide as he stepped back, filling with sudden interest. "That true?" she breathed. "Well, that's _really_ something-"

"I know," he breathed, tugging on her arm now, moving in a near-run, strange light flashing in his darkened eyes. "Come on. Got… something to show you. Upstairs."

* * *

Eremi flapped down toward the tower ring, her presence nearly unnoticed in the darkness above the sleeping city; only faint flickers of torchlight indicated the night watch going about its rounds. For many years, their vassal dragons had only been allowed to approach Vellweb at night for that very reason, and as they descended Shirley felt a brief burst of nostalgia come over her. Things were so different now, and they had changed so suddenly.

The dragon landed carefully on the stone, and, after few moments, her rider slid down off her back, glad to have her feet on something solid again. _Thank you. Go, rest now! _Briefly stroking the tiny scales on the creature's forehead, the Dragoon then stepped back into the shadow of a staircase to prevent being knocked about by the wind as Eremi took off once more. Her energy wings stirred up even stronger gusts until she had become a distant pale shape in the light of the moon.

Yawning widely, Shirley laced her fingers together and stretched her arms out before moving forward again. _Nostalgia, huh?_ she thought, walking slowly to make sure of her footing. It had been a while since she'd been back to the farm, and she had enjoyed seeing everyone again. The work of planting had not become any easier when she and her family had been bought free by Diaz and Charle nearly seven years ago, but the fact that they were working for themselves and not for a Wingly master made it better, somehow.

In any event, she was looking forward to the comfort of her bed and a good night's sleep. Eremi had left her on the southern side of the tower ring, where there was more room for the dragons to alight and depart, but her own tower was on the other side of it between Syuveil's and Damia's. With a huffing sound, she crossed her arms for warmth in front of her and continued in that direction.

As she passed the staircase beneath Rose's tower, the only one which led downward to the upper city, the red-haired woman noticed something on the rough stone beneath her feet, a few dark smears and splotches that were hard to see in the darkness. Crouching down briefly, she ran her finger across the mark, surprised to feel a slight dampness there - and, when she raised her hand to look at closely, she could see that it was blood.

Frowning, she turned to look for any more, wishing she could see better. The marks seemed to lead in the opposite direction around the tower ring, coming up from the lower city, or perhaps going down. _Someone wounded? But I can't tell where they went from this…_ Sudden worry clutching at her stomach, she turned on her heel, hunching down to look for more marks. There weren't very many at all, but there was still enough of it visible that she hurried her pace.

Shirley didn't have to go very far at all to find where the blood spots led. Her eyes following the trail, she turned almost unconsciously to look up toward the door of the tower above, the one she knew had a dome of violet marble although it was impossible to actually make out the color in just moonlight. She swallowed heavily, remembering the other Dragoon's odd reaction when she'd left that morning. Something had been bothering him, and it would be _just_ like him to get in a fight and then ignore his wounds, wouldn't it?

She started heading upward, absently wiping her hands on her pants. She had never seen the inside of his tower since it had been finished, and a part of her was slightly hurt by the fact that she hadn't been invited in. It was bound to be much different than that cave by the river - the locations could hardly be more opposite. She felt more nervous than anything, however, her brown eyes focusing on the dark spots scattered across the landing as she climbed the stairs.

When she finally reached the top, she took a deep breath, raised her fist to knock, and then stopped. _Don't be stupid, _she scolded herself, exhaling explosively, and then pounded hard on the door. However, it wasn't latched, and her first knock pushed the door inward, making her sway forward as her second knock hit only air. Chuckling nervously at her stumbling, she took a step into the dark tower room, peering up the low stairway that greeted her. "Kanzas? Are you here?"

No answer came, and Shirley put her hand against the wall to steady herself, exhaling slowly. Perhaps he'd gone down to the city, then, but she ought to make sure. Her hand brushed a groove in the wall, and she let her fingers trace its shape, both feeling and seeing in the dim light the crude shape of a lightning bolt carved into the stone. Her lips curved into an affectionate smile, and she shook her head before taking the first two steps and looking up into the room-

The sight that greeted her made her feel suddenly lightheaded, her smile freezing into a grimace on her face. The low light of oil candles illuminated the room from little hollows in the stone shelves they were set into, casting a flickering glow onto rows of what looked like clay figures. They were in vague Human shape, short, tall; guessing what they might signify, she refused to count how many there were. The room smelled almost spicy, perhaps from incense, though there was a strange metallic undertone to the scent.

Although instinct was telling her to turn and leave this place, her eyes moved as if to spite her across the room. In the center stood a kind of hearth, although the 'fireplace' beneath it was dark and void of flame, and before it sat a large, twisting sculpture of the Divine Tree. She blinked, as if the sight would somehow change if she did, and then her gaze fell on Kanzas, who lay sprawled in front of the sculpture at the end of the trail of blood.

Despite the way her heart was pounding, her mouth unpleasantly dry with fear, she couldn't do anything but run over to him and drop to her knees at his side. He didn't seem to be too badly injured, but he didn't stir as she approached, and between that, the blood, and the obvious cuts along his palms and fingers, she grabbed numbly for her Dragoon Spirit on its chain around her neck, holding it up in front of her. "White-Silver Dragon, please-"

The brightness of the spirit's light chased back the shadows for a moment, revealing the plain, lumpy clay dolls with garish clarity. She closed her eyes tightly against the sight, missing the motion below as the magical beams woke the man she was attempting to heal.

He stirred, scrubbing at his face with one hand, and then glared up at her from beneath heavy eyelids. _She's here?_ His heart skipped a beat once, a guilty reaction he tried to quash with anger. "Hey! What are you doing?" Annoyed, he swatted her hand and the Dragoon Spirit away, uncurling back up to his feet as she quickly pulled herself back a good distance across the floor.

As he was shirtless, the brief healing had made the red stains that were left behind quite apparent, spattered across tanned, unbroken skin. Shirley reluctantly let go of her spirit orb and stood again moments later, not liking the way the shadows fell across his face when she looked up at him. "Kanzas, all this blood - you were fighting?"

He seized on the excuse without even thinking about it. "Yeah, so what?" he said, the lie slipping out so easily he was taken aback. She knew already, she _knew_, he'd told her the very night they'd met again, so why was he trying to protect her from the truth? "Get out of here. I'm not going to die."

She wasn't sure she believed him, her trust waning under the faceless gaze of all those… things up on the shelves, but she thought of the battles they'd been in, the slaughter there, justifying it that way. _Winglies, they have to be - trophies of war, or something- _"Not - not until I'm sure you're all right," she answered, lifting her chin in what she hoped was a reassuringly stubborn manner.

"I - am - fine," he snarled, biting off each word. Agitated, he took a menacing step forward, clenching and unclenching his fists. "It's you who won't be, if you don't get out _now_."

Shirley choked in a deep breath, holding her ground although her mind was warning her that she ought to start backing away. "Stop trying to scare me. I'm only here because I was worried-" He didn't respond, continuing to advance on her, and it was the look on his face that made her retreat, stumbling back onto the low stairs. His other room hadn't been like this - _he_ hadn't been like this, even back when they hardly knew each other. "I don't understand!"

Kanzas laughed sharply, pausing on the top step. "No, you don't. And you never will, Shirley, frightened child. I've warned you and warned you, but you never listened, and now you say you don't understand!"

She bit her lip hard, the slow boil of anger rising in her chest. Had all his soft words before meant nothing, then? She'd thought she was getting through to him, the real him, and yet now it seemed as though he was the same dangerous, violent stranger chained on the auction block, and nothing at all had changed. "Maybe I do understand! It's all - it's all about her, isn't it? The woman from Aglis - all of this," she gestured about at the dolls, "it's all for her-"

He grabbed hold of her upper arms, whirling her away from the door before kicking it closed. She tried to keep herself from being pulled, but it only ended up making her trip on the stairs, and he half-dragged, half-shoved her back up into the tower room forcefully enough that she ended up sprawled on the stones at his feet. "That," Kanzas snarled, pointing at the middle of the three small cloth dolls set beneath the sculpture, "is Jidena. You remember her, don't you?" He turned slightly, aiming next at a random shape of clay on the highest shelf. "This one's a Wingly's bedslave." Another expressionless form on the left-hand wall. "That's a merchant's bag-carrier. And this is-"

"Kanzas!" Feeling bruised, she shoved herself back up to her feet as quickly as she could, not wanting to stay at such a disadvantage when he was like this. The realization had hit like a brick, making her stomach lurch sickeningly. "I don't want to hear it! Those aren't - Kanzas, you're talking about people you killed!"

"No," he murmured, still staring up at the display, "I saved them. You really don't know what you're talking about. I've stolen fate; I'm keeping them safe…" He whirled around, amber eyes unfocused, and then his brows knit sharply. Although she remained still, arms crossed guardedly in front of her chest, he became even more upset, reaching up to grab hold of his own hair. "Stop it, you're looking at me like _they_ did, stop looking at me like that-"

For a moment, it was as if he was back on that island, the salt-smell of the air filling him, the constant sound of the waves on the beach ringing in his ears. The old couple who'd taken him in after he'd fallen from Aglis, had lied to the Wingly census-takers to protect him, fed and clothed and trained him for a year - he'd thought he could live there forever, have a life again, free. He'd trusted them, had tried to explain about Jidena, the failed escape, and they'd looked at him just like that before shouting about turning him in to the Winglies, his crimes and his evil, and he'd taken a knife and made them _stop_-

Flustered, Shirley got out, "Looking at - I'm not-" Unable to voice what she meant, she shook her head hard, her face drawn into an expression of miserable confusion.

"You are!" Kanzas shouted, taking a step forward again and watching her flinch back reflexively. "You're looking at me like… like Syuveil looks at insides!"

"Just calm down! I'm not looking at you like anything!" As if realizing the absurdity of the conversation, she half-turned away, too wary to put her back to him. "I'm not looking at you. Kanzas, please… all of this…"

The shadows flickered and danced as he moved past one of the oil lamps set into the shelf, reaching up to trail a finger across one of the clay figures there and leaving a reddish streak behind. That his anger had not cooled, but had only been restrained, was evident in the tone of his voice. "Huh, you think it's all some kind of trophy thing, don't you? It's not about that. If it was, there'd be so many more. All those godsdamned Winglies don't deserve _this_." His hand slipped back down to his side, almost as if in a caress, and she shuddered at the thought. "You know the story about the tiory-snake?"

Shirley's own voice shook, though she was trying to hold back what were threatening to be sobs of frustration. _Stop it! You can't do anything about this if you can't control yourself!_ "Yes, you asked me before. I don't - I don't think this is the time for stories!"

"It's the perfect time." He smiled narrowly, turning from the shelf to face her again, his voice drifting softer now so she had to strain to hear it. "They say before people were born from the fruits of the Divine Tree, everything followed the plan Soa had laid for it, and by that plan they lived and died."

She knew this story as well as she knew all the rest, its events carved in neat, almost abstract designs on a panel of the Life City's temple wall. "Kanzas…"

He continued as if he hadn't heard her, nearly singsonging, "But then the tiory-snake, waiting among the roots, stole fate when a pair of the newest creatures born to the world came down from the tree." He watched her expression now, gauging her reaction. "These new things, were they predator, prey? Powerful, weak? No one knows, because the snake, it wrapped itself around a neck, and dug its fangs in-"

"I know what it did!" she shouted suddenly, hands twitching upward as if to cover her ears, although she stopped herself halfway. "It doesn't have anything to do with you a-and this!"

Kanzas' eyes narrowed. "It has everything to do with it. You think Soa made that species for the tiory-snake to kill before they'd barely gotten down from the Divine Tree? You think it's the fates of dragons, of Humans, to be exterminated by the Winglies, Shirley? If that's true, then I was fated to kill all of them," he swung his arm out to point at the dolls along the wall, making her jump, "and they were born only to die, to be killed by me! And where's the godsdamned sense in _that_?"

"So why do it?" Shirley cried. "Why do it at all, then?"

"Because I took their lives," he growled, "because I stole their fates from Soa, I can decide what they'll be. And I said I'd save them, Shirley, I said I'd do it for you! They're bound to me," he took a deep breath, closing his eyes, "and as I save them from the darkness, they'll save me."

She pressed her fist hard against her lips. _It's madness! Forget the story, none of this makes any sense!_

When she didn't answer, he laughed shortly, continuing, "I don't think it's _right_. But I'm not going to apologize. If these tombs can save them, then I'll just do what I have to. I'll save them from Mayfil and their hate will keep the darkness away for just a while. Let them tear me to shreds, just as long as they're there…"

"And… when we destroy Mayfil, when the Winglies don't decree for us where we go… your choice will have sent you to the darkness anyway."

"How was I supposed to know it was ever possible? It doesn't matter anymore. Don't feel sorry."

The White-Silver Dragoon dropped her hands, reaching out as if she wanted to grab hold of him and shake him, although he was too far away to reach. "I - I don't know what to do! Kanzas, why are you telling me this? What - do you want from me? What am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing," he snorted. "You hate it, but you can do nothing."

"I can stop you!" Shirley hissed. "I can't just turn my head and pretend I don't know you're adding more and more of those _things_ to your wall! You're supposed to protect them!"

The russet-haired man sighed as if she was a particularly slow child, bending in a graceful motion to sweep up a knife he'd left lying near the hearth. Crossing toward her too quickly for her to even think about backing away, he grabbed one of her hands, forcing her fingers to wrap around the hilt. "All right," he near-whispered before tilting his head back. "Stop me."

Although she automatically braced her hand with the other, her fingers shook, the blade threatening to slip out of her hands. Her eyes were blurred with tears no matter how hard she fought to suppress them. "You… think that I…"

"Go on," he said casually. "I'll let you do it. Right to left," he traced his finger across his throat, "and it'll be quick enough. Better you than Diaz, than the Winglies - only you can cast judgment on me, and I'll fight to the death anyone else who tries. That seems fair, don't you think?" He spread his hands outward in a disarming way, waiting motionlessly for her to respond.

There was a metallic ring as she let the knife clatter to the stone below, covering her face to hide the welling of her eyes. "You know I won't do it. You know it."

Kanzas chuckled, looking back down once more. "I know," he agreed simply. "But you should be careful before you get too righteous, little Shirley… or have you forgotten that slave girl? The one you-" He smacked his fist hard into his open hand, the sound making her flinch.

A sob escaped her, and she shook her head. "I haven't, but - but that was a mistake-"

"And all those Winglies?" he pressed, taking a step toward her. "Yet it's worse that I remember them? That I don't hide the memory away shamefully? How's that, Shirley?"

"Because you _should_ be ashamed of it!" she blurted shakily. "Because you should!" Clutching hold of her own upper arms, she turned away from his cold, amused gaze as if the sight of his face burned her. "The whole world's so dark and terrible… why does it have to be this way with the people I care about, too?"

The other Dragoon was silent for a minute, long enough that she was sure he must have gone, although she didn't want to turn and find out. Finally, Kanzas' soft, raspy voice murmured near her ear, "Yes, it's dark. It's been dark, but it has to be. Your light won't shine in a bright place… and I can't find it without you."

Shirley took a deep breath, biting her lip, and, as she considered the meaning of that, she heard the quiet noise of his bare feet on the stone. The door creaked open shortly afterward, and then he was gone into the cool night.

As soon as she was sure he'd left, the woman stumbled backward, sitting down hard on the rickety wooden chair next to his bed. She didn't want to stay here any longer than she had to - and she certainly wanted to leave before he returned - but she wasn't going anywhere until she'd calmed down a bit.

What could she do about it, anyway? Going to Belzac, or any of the others, would only earn her a resounding 'told you so', even if they never actually said it aloud. Besides, she was unwilling to admit that his overprotectiveness was justified, or to turn everyone against Kanzas even more than they already were right before a most important battle. She would just have to deal with it on her own right now. There still had to be some kind of a chance…

Shuddering, Shirley turned in her seat, taking one last, long look at the dim tower room. There were bloodstains on the bed behind her; one of them, imprinted firmly into the rough weave of the homespun sheet, was in the shape of a handprint. Slowly, she reached out, her fingers stretching…

It was exactly the size of her own.

* * *

The setting sun tinged the sand below with deep shades of red and purple, although occasionally the rocky landscape was lit up by the last rays of gold in the sky. The desert seemed like nothing more than a blur of color to the ones who flew above it, nighttime's shadows cast ever longer across the ground. The lone Blue Sea Dragon, very out of place in these surroundings, seemed to be going as fast as he could in order to get the dry, hot place behind him as soon as possible, and his riders merely hung on, watching the horizon ahead.

Seated behind Syuveil on her vassal dragon's back, Damia held on tightly around his waist, still afraid she might fall off even though she had been flying many times before. At least this way he couldn't see the scales on her face as the wind blew back her long teal hair, or even that she was blushing, her pale skin having turned a blotchy, embarrassed red at the closeness of his presence.

He'd had a couple of days to rest while Gloriano's army moved northward, its dangerous job to appear as if it was preparing to attack Zenebatos and hopefully draw the Winglies' attention away from the south, from the Death City. Although the scholar seemed fine for the most part, he would occasionally tremble, or mutter something under his breath, and Damia had the feeling that he was asked to go with her so she could look out for _him_ as much as to keep an eye on her, a thought which unsettled her even more.

As saddened as she was by the news of Tsavor's death, a little awkward part of her couldn't help but feel glad that there was a reason for him to ride with her today. Otherwise, she felt, she might just tell Stephen to turn and go back at the sight of Mayfil approaching and abandon the other Dragoons. Her face hot more from shame now, she turned her head to look to the side, although the sight of the scenery whipping by did little to calm her nerves.

After a few minutes, she could see an odd shape appear to her right; fearing it was their destination, her grip tightened around him until she could hear him take a sudden breath. Blushing ever brighter, she quickly relaxed, pointing toward it as if to distract him. "Look - Syuveil, is that it?"

Peering toward the dark shape, he finally shook his head. "No," he called back loudly, his voice a bit muffled by all the wind. "It'll be straight ahead of us! That must be…" He fell silent briefly, picturing maps and distances, and then his eyes widened. "That's the Divine Tree!"

"Right _there_?" She felt confident enough in her hold, at least, to lean a bit that way, picking out the gigantic trunk and the arching limbs that shot off from the center, implanted in the sandy ground. "Can't we get closer? I've only seen it in drawings before!"

"It wouldn't be a good idea," he answered. "There are a lot of Wingly soldiers guarding it, and we don't want them to see us and realize where we're going!"

She sighed a little, nodding before realizing he couldn't see the gesture. "I guess you're right!" She felt disappointed somehow, although she had never prayed very often to the Divine Tree. It just seemed… special, somehow, to be able to see where all the species of the world had first been born, but that was just another thing the Winglies had taken away from everyone else. "We'll get that back too," she muttered, not worried about being heard.

They were not the only ones to pass the holy site, as the Dragoons had chosen to approach Mayfil from different directions in order to minimize the chances of alerting the Winglies to what was coming for them. It was the same tactic they'd used to such great success when they'd attacked the army in the valley. One dragon passing overhead was normal enough in many parts of Endiness, but several, let alone six of them, would be a definite warning sign. And so Kanzas too saw the Divine Tree in the distance on the other side of it, its telltale shape a darker blot against the dusky sky.

He shook his head slightly, his eyes fixed on it as if it was a lit beacon instead of a mass of branches nearly too far away to make out. Even if he couldn't see it, however, he could imagine a pale shimmer surrounding it, evidence that the stories were true, that it _did_ have the power to protect the far descendants of its children. That was what he'd always been taught, anyway, even though he'd never felt that it worked for himself. Better it than Mayfil, in any case, for those he'd saved. _Huh, I never thought I'd actually see the thing. Not since… back then._

At this moment, it was so easy to recall…

Dry summer-brown grass crackled under the man's feet as he carried his crying son up the hill. The ridge overlooked the plantation on one side; on the other, more fields stretched out westward. Small figures bobbed and moved in the distance, workers tending to the crops beneath the heavy heat of the sun.

Satisfied that they were out of earshot of the occupant of the manor house below, Any sighed softly, shifting the sobbing boy against his other shoulder carefully so as not to brush against the long welts on the backs of his legs. "You've got to quiet down," he said, patting his back gently, "and then we can get your mother to put some salve on it, all right?"

"But it hurts!" he wailed, unconsciously rubbing his tear-streaked face against his father's shoulder, the man's red beard scratching against his temple, comforting despite the prickle of it.

"I know," he answered. "You still shouldn't have kicked Mistress. You're lucky she only told me ten lashes."

The boy sniffled messily. "It's not fair! _She_ hit Shirley!"

"She shouldn't have done that, either. But we have to be patient with her while she's sick, and she doesn't like to hear children cry, so you have to stop it, Za." He frowned, shifting him gingerly once again. "Take a deep breath and calm down, now."

"It's not fair," he repeated, rubbing at his eyes. Slowly, however, the sobs were becoming hiccups, the tears drying up, although the dull burn of the whip marks on his calves remained. "She should go to the clinic and get better so she's not so mean anymore!"

Any shook his head slightly. "I wish it was that easy. She's sick in her head, son. The Crystal Palace took away her baby, so she thinks Shirley is her baby instead. The clinic can't fix that, so she has to get better on her own."

"But she's not her baby!" Za protested, pushing back a bit to look at him. "She's Mama's baby! She can't just take her away, even if she is sick! She can't!"

The man refrained from explaining that their owner could, in fact, do what she wished with any of them, smiling at him instead. "She won't take her away. Don't worry, I'm watching out for Shirley. She's my baby, too. Just like you."

He pouted at that, wiping his face quickly as if to hide the tears still drying there. "I am _not_ a baby." However, the quaver in his voice belied his words, his lip trembling as if he was about to start sobbing all over again.

"Ah, but you're mine." Well aware of the signs of an oncoming tantrum, Any glanced toward the sky to judge the position of the sun before turning to the northwest. "Hey - you know about the Divine Tree, don't you?" The boy shook his head, for the moment remaining quiet, and his father smiled some. "You ought to, you're old enough. Look, now," he pointed ahead, "very, very far that way, in the land called the Death Frontier, that's where the Divine Tree is."

"Mama says, pray to it, and it'll make us safe," he murmured, laying his head on Any's shoulder with a little sigh.

"That's right, because it's very special. The Divine Tree is where everything in the world came from. Soa planted the seed and it grew up into a tree. On the tree, there were many fruits, and from the fruits came everything in the world, all the people and plants and animals."

Za considered this, idly playing with a strand of the man's long hair. "Even dogs?" He received a nod. "And cats?" Another affirmative. "And horses? And birds? And other trees?" Everything he could think of was answered with a yes, until finally he finished with, "And Winglies came from it too?"

"Yes," Any replied, a bit quietly out of habit. "Winglies were the hundred and seventh creature to come from the Divine Tree. We Humans are the hundred and sixth. Sometimes, I think, it would do them good to remember-" He shook his head, falling silent.

"I wanna see! Let's go see it! C'mon, let's go!" He wriggled as if to be put down, but then thought better of it as the pain reminded him quite emphatically of his welts. Whining a bit, he leaned forward and hugged his father's neck for comfort.

"It's much too far away to visit, I'm afraid." He patted the boy's back. "Besides, the Winglies won't let anyone else go there to see it. Come on, we should go back and get your legs wrapped up. I'll draw you a picture in the fireplace tonight instead…"

He frowned, lifting his head briefly as he was carried back down the hill. "But it's our tree too, isn't it? We came from it too!"

"I know. It's not fair, but that's how it is. Maybe one day they'll let us visit it again."

"_I'm_ going to see it," Za mumbled, half to himself. "When I grow up I'm going to go see it myself, and I don't care if they won't let me!"

Any chuckled softly, turning his foot to slow their descent as he skidded the last few feet down. "Maybe you will, someday. Maybe we both will."

His eyes refocusing, Kanzas laughed sharply, his face drawn into a sneer; whether it was for the child or the man, or perhaps both, he didn't care to decide. He resisted the urge to spit, however, considering the speed of their flight, and turned to look ahead at the dark mass of spires that was beginning to show itself on the horizon.

_More than likely you're seeing Mayfil too, old man, but not this way. Too bad. _He flexed his fingers, cracking his knuckles before taking hold of the halter rope once more, leaning forward to reduce the buffeting of the wind against him. The specks of light in the dusky sky that indicated where the others were approaching were growing brighter as well. _There it is! Come on, don't let them beat you! _

The floating city was nearing quickly, and yet none of them were able to swoop down for the attack as they had planned. One by one, the dragons and their riders slowed to stare. Even Rose, who had been there before, was taken aback by the sight before her, watching the small wisps of light wending their way through the sky into the city's high tower. Against the darkening sky, they glowed with a self-contained energy, moving in streams as if being drawn in. There was a soft thrumming noise coming from the city, which hovered there as if it lay in wait.

"Syuveil," Damia near-whispered near the man's ear, making herself heard despite the rush of the wind below which blew billows of sand along. "Syuveil, are those - are those people's souls?"

"They are," he breathed, unable to take his eyes off them, watching the streams flow in horrified fascination.

The girl whimpered, plucking at his tunic urgently. "I don't want to go in there, let's go back, please, let's go back!"

At the sound of her voice, he turned as best he can, holding on as Stephen flapped ridged wings hard to keep aloft, sprays of golden energy filling the air around them. "We have to go, Damia! Look, the others are already moving! If we can destroy it, we can prevent everyone we know and care about from ending up here like that!"

She looked up at him, piercingly, and then turned her head, ashamed of her weakness even though just the thought the black shape ahead was making her tremble in fear. "I'm sorry… I'll be brave. For y- for everyone!"

Syuveil smiled, nodding at her, and she squeezed her eyes closed, giving her vassal dragon the command. With a loud roar, the blue-scaled creature abruptly shot forward, taking the last two Dragoons into the looming City of Death…


	15. Chapter Fifteen, Part One

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter Fifteen, Part One

At the very least, Zieg thought, Mayfil was as dark as he'd imagined it would be. However, there was no sign that it would live up to any further expectations. There had been no struggle to get inside the city once he'd parted from Ember - he had encountered no devils, or even any souls, unlike what the streams of them outside had promised. Hardly trusting that it would stay that way, he kept one hand close to his sword's hilt as he walked onward, alone but for the presence of his vassal dragon in his mind.

Thick, metal tubes of various sizes hung down from what Zieg assumed was the ceiling above, many of them looped upward and held in place by rope or chain. They seemed to attach to various devices, perhaps to give them power. Whatever their purpose, they had been there, and undisturbed, long enough for strings of green fungus to have formed on them, adding to Mayfil's musty graveyard smell. Between that and the place's utter gloom, the Red-Eyed Dragoon was moving at an urgent pace along a narrow pathway, hoping to get to the generator he had been assigned and to destroy it as quickly as possible.

The sudden ending of his pathway brought him up short with a soft curse, and he backpedaled unconsciously until he was sure he was on solid brick again. Falling toward the lava in that Eastlands volcano had been bad enough, but at least he'd known what was waiting for him at the bottom then.

Prodding at the edge of the path with a booted toe sent small rocks tumbling, and as he listened to them plink below, he peered downward where a faint greenish glow was shining. "Hmm," Zieg murmured aloud.

Was it possible that was the generator? His vassal dragon had brought him as close as possible to where Rose had estimated it to be, but he'd consider himself lucky if he could reach it this quickly, and without any hindrance except this missing teleporter, if such it was. Whatever had been at the end of the path here was gone, which wouldn't bother the Winglies, but it was certainly stopping him.

Of course, he could also fly if he had to, but he was hesitant to transform without knowing if he could gain the energy back to escape when the city fell. The dragons above had already started on the exterior of the large tower and its offshoots, but apart from occasional rumbles, he wasn't feeling the effects much down here; that would certainly change when the generator blew, and he wasn't planning to throw his life away just to destroy a single city.

It would have been different if that Wingly hadn't stolen his spirit's stored energy level, but now he had to worry, like Rose and the other newer Dragoons, about his transformation running out too soon. It had been a good few years since he last had to think about it, and he wasn't happy about having to catch up again.

Kicking a few more pebbles down from the ledge and waiting for the sound as they hit the space below, he considered a moment and then tilted his head upward, turning and peering through the dim toward the tubes and chains. There was a fairly long one just above…

"Can't hurt to try, I guess," he said, more to hear the sound of his own voice than anything. Apart from the thrumming of the various devices, the city's magic force keeping it aloft, Mayfil was eerily quiet and still. The sound of his broadsword as he pulled it free of its sheath rang extra loudly, and Zieg winced a bit but otherwise didn't hesitate, sighting the lowest-hanging chain and making a run toward it, shifting his blade as he did so.

He leapt as high as he could, bringing down his sword at the top of the jump, and was rewarded by a spray of sparks and a hollow jingling sound. The chain swayed but stayed attached, and he grumbled under his breath, turning and backing up a bit to get another running start. It took several tries, but the Dragoon's aim was good, and finally one of the thick links snapped, dropping half the chain and sending it swinging near his face.

He chuckled a bit, checking his broadsword for notches before sheathing it again in satisfaction. The smile remained on his face as he reached for the links, tugging at the chain to test its hold. Although it didn't seem to budge from the ceiling, his gloved hands slipped a bit on the slime that had formed between the links, and, making a face, he pulled away the strips of fungus before wiping his gloves on the sides of his pants.

Perhaps he was a fool for trying this, but he'd weighed the risk against the time it would take to find a different route, and he'd made his choice. There were no green-hued streams of energy here like he'd glimpsed outside, no other thing he could think of that would make such a glow, except for the generator. And so, without any more deliberation, Zieg seized the chain and ran, pushing off the crumbling end of the pathway and swinging out into the blackness with a half-restrained shout of excitement.

As the chain reached the furthest limit of its arc, he let go, flinging himself even further forward. Turning as he plummeted, the Dragoon felt his foot hit the brick walkway below and let himself fall even further into a controlled roll that absorbed the shock of the impact. He came to a stop on his stomach, staring down into a chasm below, and when he realized how narrow his landing area had been, he burst into peals of laughter. He had devils' luck, or so Rose would say if she knew about it - when she was done shouting at him, of course.

The thought of devils silenced him quickly, however, and Zieg pushed himself to his feet, unharmed but for a bruised hip from rolling over his sword. He looked around cautiously, listening for any sign of their supposed opponents; he couldn't imagine that they would leave the generator unguarded, yet there was nothing…

And then he heard the faint jangle of a lute playing somewhere nearby, and he blinked once in astonishment before his expression settled into a pensive frown. The pathway opened up as it entered a large room, in the middle of which lay the low green-glowing dome of one of the Death City's generators, but that wasn't what startled him and made him recoil, what forced a sick, stale feeling of hate to clench at his heart.

On the thick stone and metal rim of the dome sat the figure of a man, the instrument which was the source of the music cradled in his hands. He appeared to be in his early twenties and was dressed in bright, rakish clothing, his curly brown hair reaching to his shoulders. He smiled and looked up as the Dragoon neared, closing one eye in a wink.

Zieg could feel his hands trembling, rage threatening to overtake the calm, rational personality he tried to maintain. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself with some effort before striding forward to meet a piece of the past he'd thought was long gone. "True," he snapped, barely able to utter the name.

"Ah… it's you, Zieg," the bard said in a lilting, careless tone. "You've not come to comfort my poor, pale shade, I daresay…"

Disgust showed clearly on his face as he watched the figure sitting there, but although he put his hand on the hilt of his sword, clenching it tightly, he made no further move. "I remember you as being older than me."

He continued to strum the lute for a few moments, staring into the middle distance, but he broke his silence a moment before Zieg tugged his broadsword from its scabbard. "A side-effect of dying, I suppose," he said mournfully. "I was quite the fool-"

"I should say so," the red-clad man interjected, the tone startling the bard as if he'd expected, beyond all reason, a kind voice telling him he was quite smart really. "You made being a fool into art, but it's over now, thank the stars. Get out of my way."

True laughed airily, but it was obvious nonetheless that the brush-off had struck him. "Ah, I ought to have known better than to bandy words about with a warrior," he sighed, setting the lute aside and standing before pulling a slender blade from the weapons harness at his side. "I'm afraid I can't let you pass, Zieg, although you were very nearly my own dear family."

Bristling, the Dragoon did draw his sword now, holding it with casual ease. "I'd hate to see how you treat enemies, considering how you treated your 'family'. I would rather have seen them here than you." He was not very concerned by the impending fight, memories of his earlier life in the Feld clan village returning quick and furious to the forefront of his mind. True had been the type to avoid a physical altercation whenever possible, and Zieg had no idea why his ghost was so intent on blocking him now.

"The spirits of your father and sister have passed out of Mayfil," True said blithely. "Alas, the Winglies must have sent them someplace most undeserved." His voice shook slightly, but he quickly got it under control. "They bore me no ill-will, warrior, but I suppose you'll insist on doing so, and it's really quite unfair."

"You _poisoned_ him," Zieg growled, taking a step forward. The bard brought his sword up quickly to guard, a shiftiness in his expression betraying his urge to run. "You betrayed her - and I was accused of killing you, though you took your own life? I think it's plenty fair! I don't know why you're here now, but since you are, I think-"

"Zieg, Zieg, Zieg!" he protested quickly. "You're dangerously misinformed! I never poisoned your father - what would I have gotten from it? I never would have been clan elder in his place-"

Metal clashed against metal as the other man quickly brought up his light blade in an attempt to block the forward sweep of the Dragoon's sword. "Which means you _would_ have, if you had gotten something out of it. You ran even before anyone laid blame on you, so forgive me if I don't believe you," he drawled sarcastically.

"You've always had something against me, Zieg," True accused, almost huffily. He hooked his blade around the point of the other to disengage before backing away and once more setting it to guard in a quick, neat motion. "As I said, your father blamed me not, and here a soul knows the soul of its killer! I knew you would blame me, so I left until the real culprit was found-"

"Which never was," he spat, hazel eyes narrowed as he glared at him.

True shrugged expansively, attempting a friendly, disarming smile. "Perhaps no one was to blame. Perhaps he ate the wrong mushrooms, and all that strife was for nothing. Wouldn't that be absurd?"

Far from soothing his rage, the notion that this despised man might not be as guilty as Zieg had believed was only riling him further. Nearly eight years had passed since his death; Zieg had been eighteen then, in training as a clan warrior. Born free into one of the small Human settlements that dotted the Southlands countryside, he had been happy and content with his life, until all at once, everything changed - and it had been True's fault.

He had never been able to blame his older sister for her part in it; Gytha had been a simple, cheerful girl, and far too trusting of the man who had pledged he loved her, that he would marry her, despite her family's disapproval. Despite this 'love', the bard had left soon after hearing Zieg's father had fallen ill, supposedly to raise money to buy a farmstead. He didn't come back until months later, until after the elder had gone mad and died, after Gytha had passed away in childbirth, and the next day True was found drowned in the lake.

The clan's eyes had fallen on Zieg for the blame, perhaps with some justification, for he had been unable to do anything to save his family from their fates. Although ultimately the elders had declared True's death a suicide, and many of the clan would have looked the other way even if he had done it, Zieg had chosen to leave the Feld territory in order to avoid splitting them over the issue.

His Dragoon Spirit warmed briefly, Ember's presence in his mind seeming to echo his fury, and the familiar feeling of his dragon's soul within him snapped him abruptly out of it. The Winglies had arranged this meeting, no doubt to slow him, keep him from his objective, and although he would have enjoyed committing the act he had been suspected of, he realized that there were more important things than revenge at hand. "The absurdity here," Zieg snarled, shaking his head, "is that you're still trying to make excuses. Stand aside. This _isn't _what I came here for."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he answered quietly, swinging out his sword again as the blonde warrior moved to push forward. "I certainly never thought I would be able to explain the truth, and I want to hear you say that you were wrong-"

The growl that broke from his throat was low and dangerous, an almost draconic sound that made the soul take a step backward in fear. "That will never happen! Even if you didn't kill him, what you did to my sister-!" He spluttered angrily, trying to get back under control.

Pale-faced, True said quickly, "I _was_ going to marry her, Zieg. But I'm - I was a simple bard, a traveling player - you wouldn't have wanted to see her living in squalor. Neither did I, so I had to get the money first, don't you see? It was almost enough, and then I lost everything in a fire and had to start all over - but I _was_ going to marry her!"

"Yes, you promised to marry her," he conceded with false calm, "but imagine the clan council's surprise when two other women from different villages stepped forward and claimed you promised them the same."

The man's face grew even whiter, as he had died before the council had convened, had never known his secret had come out. "She - one of them told me she was carrying my child. It was an awful lie intended to ensnare me, but how was I to know? I was a fool to believe it, my heart was broken and-"

"Spare me, True! Gytha died _giving birth_ to your child, believing you loved her, and did you even think about her with your poor broken heart while you were off chasing other skirts? For that alone, you deserve to die - again!"

He lunged, swinging his blade in an attempt to knock the lighter one from his opponent's grip or break it beneath the force of the attack. As if reluctantly, True parried the blows, wielding his thin sword with an odd confidence in its strength. Although normally Zieg would have approached a fight with a ghost cautiously, he was nearly too enraged by the bard's feeble excuses to even remember where he was.

The fight was quick and almost brutal; even if the man had once been a proficient fighter, Zieg had well surpassed him in the years after his death. Making a few quick feints and forcing True to stretch awkwardly to block them, he saw an opening and jabbed the two-handed sword forward, changing the angle of his aim at the last minute to drive the broad point into his opponent's shoulder, rather than his heart.

True reeled backward as the blade was pulled from him. "Soa!" he gasped reflexively. "I… can _feel_ that-" His words were cut off by the sharp clacking of his teeth, however, as Zieg viciously tripped his foot out from under him, sending him sprawling to the stones. A stunned, amazed expression on his face, True could only stare at the blood welling forth from the wound and staining his brightly-colored tunic.

Stepping forward quickly, the Dragoon pressed the point of his sword firmly into the hollow of the man's throat, forcing him to freeze. "Enough," he said, hazel eyes dark with emotion. "Enough of this. You're - you're dead already. Would it still be murder if I killed you again, now?" Before his opponent could try to answer, he continued, "I don't know if I would have back then, but it doesn't matter, because you did it for me yourself-"

"I didn't kill myself, Zieg," he gasped quickly. "I thought about it, yes, I'd come back just to find Gytha was dead, and so I was looking at the reflection of the stars in the lake and I thought, oh, to swim amongst them and leave this pain behind forever-" He choked a bit as the Dragoon pressed the tip of the sword further against his throat, his words tumbling out ever faster. "But I didn't! I turned to go back up to the village and my foot must have slipped, the moss on the stone, and I fell in and hit my head and - I swear it!" he nearly shrieked, watching the expression on Zieg's face darken even further. "I was a fool-"

"You keep saying that," he answered wearily, "as if it's an excuse for all you've done. It's not an excuse, or an apology. I think I'm owed a real one." He emphasized it with a little more pressure on the point of the sword.

"I-I'm sorry," True wheezed as best he could around the blade, "I r-really am-"

Zieg watched him for a moment and then exhaled sharply, pulling back the sword in a smooth gesture. He felt drained, almost, though not without a grudging sense of satisfaction along with it. "Just… go on, get out of here. You're a spirit, so go where you're supposed to go. I don't want to look at you, and I don't have any more time to waste on you; this place is going to fall apart soon enough."

The feeling of a hand grasping his ankle stopped his quick stride, however, and he looked down in astonishment to see True holding onto his boot. "Please… stop, Zieg," the man whispered hoarsely, actual tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. "They - the Winglies, they promised me - if I stopped you, I won't go to Hell like the rest…"

Firmly, but not without a certain gentleness, he turned his other foot, pressing down on the man's hand with his heel until he was forced to let go with a gasp. "I think that since you abandoned her in life, you ought to keep her company in death, don't you?" he said mildly. "Anyway, after tonight the Winglies won't be deciding our destinations anymore. Give my family my regards when you pass on. I'm sorry I wasn't able to do this when it would have helped _them_."

Stepping clear of the soul sprawled out on the floor and ignoring True's helpless sobs, Zieg approached the dome of the generator before him, pressing his free hand to the Dragoon Spirit at his chest. Experimentally, he tried to hack at it with his sword, but apart from generating a few greenish sparks, nothing happened.

Making a face, he reached toward his spirit orb with his mind, and a moment later waves of crackling flame surrounded him as he transformed. The cry of shock he heard almost made him laugh, but he soon pushed all extraneous thoughts away to concentrate on his task. It would likely take magic to break the generator's shield, but if he cast his spell - the only one he had now, he recalled with annoyance - he would lose his method of escape. So, reverting to an earlier plan, he did as Rose said she had done, calling upon Ember to lend him her strength.

He waited in stillness, unsure what form the power would take, but gradually feeling an odd heat building up within him as if it might burst from his skin. Suddenly, noticing the blade of his sword glowing with the heat, he shot toward the generator with sweat rolling down his face before he could think about it further. Bracing the broadsword with both hands, he flew up slightly in order to bring the fiery sword down with all his strength. "There-!"

The dome's surface let off a loud snapping noise as it was pierced, cracking like the shell of an egg, and with a gasp Zieg yanked his weapon free and flew upward to escape the energy flowing forth. He glanced back quickly as he fled, trying to locate the soul of True, but it was impossible to see through the bright green glow, and he soon had no more time to worry about it as the generator exploded behind him, sending him hurtling forward.

Glad of the cool rush of air somewhat chilling the heat that still poured from his skin, Zieg rushed onward, trying to get his bearings so he could find the meeting point where Rose was waiting for them. As the city shook around him, spilling debris, the blonde Dragoon couldn't help but smile; if all of their opponents were to be mere hindrances, souls from the past and not the devils they had been told of, then they would have no problems destroying the rest of the generators, and the Overseer, too.

* * *

The souls flickered like fireflies around him, fading in and out of his vision. The small hallway was more like a tunnel, an intake into Mayfil's towering black bulk which he'd chosen as his entrance to the city. Kanzas hadn't hesitated as he'd leapt from Taranis' back onto the little platform, hadn't flinched as the stream of small pale lights brushed past him, but now as he padded quietly in the darkness, he could feel the small of his back growing cold with nervous sweat, and he readjusted his grip on the long metal claw he held.

Softly, the lights tickled his skin as they brushed past, making sounds like faint whispering he wasn't sure he wanted to hear. The green light grew brighter at the end of the passageway, and he stepped slowly into the small chamber there, squinting around cautiously. It seemed empty except for the souls, which were swirling like a maelstrom in the center before being pulled in different directions. The floor was clear and glasslike, an odd colored liquid rippling beneath.

Three dark archways spaced evenly around the room led to other tunnels - which one would take him toward the generator? As if to challenge the knot of nervous tension that was forming in his gut, Kanzas stepped forward and into the center of the chamber, the long-tailed wisps of light surrounding him, the breeze of their passing ruffling his hair, the loose ends of his cloak and belt. There was nothing to be-

_-here, you're here-_

Nothing to-

_-waiting for you-_

He froze, amber irises contracting sharply as he listened to the words that murmured around him. His staring eyes became aware of several of the wisps no longer moving, instead hovering there before him, the twinkling intensifying. "Who?" he growled, swiping at them, uncomfortable prickling scratching along his nerves when he came in contact. "You Winglies'll just _have_ to wait-"

_-promised-_

_-waiting here-_

Kanzas turned again, feeling the sudden burn of the Dragoon Spirit beneath his wrist guard. Despite its apparent urging, however, he ignored it, eyes flicking this way and that as if to catch the souls and freeze them with his glare. "Is this all? There aren't enough! Wait your turn!"

_-you're dead-_

_-promised here-_

_-waiting-_

_"Za?"_

"Don't you dare!" the man snapped, turning once more to face the direction he thought that voice had come from. He tried to calm himself, feeling jumpy, irritated, as if that would in some way hide the fear. "You - I know you - I thought you'd be here - don't you dare call me that-!"

This voice was stronger than the others, the glow that separated itself from the stream larger, brighter. _"I know you, I know my son. It was the name we called you. And they who know you here…" _Any's gentle voice seemed saddened, almost horrified. _"What have you done?"_

"You think you can judge me, _you_? I am not ashamed!" Kanzas yelled, his fists clenched. If he focused, he could see the vaguest outline of the man surrounding the small light, and he bared his teeth at the expression he imagined there. "You could do nothing even when you lived! I won't apologize for it, and I have nothing to say to you!"

The Dragoon took a step toward one of the archways, still hearing the voice behind him as he moved. _"They can't send me on - I won't go without all of you! The connections are too strong. You were taken from me, you and your mother and sister, and I couldn't keep on-"_

"And so, bravely, you let yourself die?" he asked bitterly, half-turning. "And now wait for us to make the journey to Hell with you? It never mattered before what anyone did in life, and it still won't for me, so just let me-" Kanzas cut himself off suddenly, feeling the rumbling of the city beneath his feet. It was stronger than the shaking that had plagued the city since he'd gotten inside, the aftershocks of the dragons' attacks on its exterior which he'd barely paid attention to. _Was that a generator? Someone made it this soon?_

Adjusting his balance as the tremors worsened, he began to back toward the archway he'd picked, sure that any direction was better than staying. Ignoring the further cries of his father's soul, he watched as the shiny, transparent floor of the chamber tilted slightly; the whirling lights dissipated as the device in the ceiling cracked and shifted, half-dangling from its place there. Quickly turning on his heel and sprinting for the darkness of the hallway ahead, he barely got three steps into it before a large, curved blade whipped toward him.

Cursing sharply, he ducked to one side, the edge of the blade whistling past his chest but carving a slice from his left forearm. He smacked hard into the wall of the tunnel, automatically pushing off it and twisting into a kick intended to knock his opponent down. Instead of flesh, however, his foot drove into something made of metal, sending it backward with a strange whirr, yet his spirit orb drew in life energy as satisfyingly as ever.

_Another one of those Mininto spirit machines?_ Unlike the one they'd encountered on the way to Fort Magrad, however, this one had probably been created to attack intruders. Drawing up into a defensive stance, Kanzas peered at it, looking for what might be its vulnerable points, obviously different from those of flesh and blood creatures.

It was made of black metal and shaped like a human with long, thin limbs, a large circular blade in place of its right hand and three long, nasty-looking ones on the left. Spikes bedecked its shoulders and jagged razors edged one foot, while the other leg ended in a sharp point; the visible weaponry was enough to make even him cautious in his approach. Like the mining machine, the thing seemed off-balance, its torso swaying back and forth from the waist, but he knew it was fast despite that. He'd have to make sure he was just as fast, then.

Reaching for the clasp of his cloak with his free hand, he pulled it off and flung it toward the machine to distract or blind it, following the cloth with a quick lunge of his claws. The whine of metal on metal sounded amidst the tearing noise, and he cursed under his breath as the large circular blade ripped up through the cloak, aiming blindly for him.

Deciding to change tactics while it was still somewhat tangled, he twisted sideways quickly, avoiding most of the strike, and moved further down the hallway where there was more space to maneuver. "Over here, you walking stovepipe," he goaded, waiting there defensively. It was quite likely that the insults were pointless, but they were still rather fun to say. "You don't even have the sense Soa gave a halfwit, do you?"

Lacking the intelligence or ability to just pull the cloth away, the thing simply shredded it until it fell to pieces. Rather disappointingly, it made no reply or reaction to the words, just a single screech of metal as it jerked toward the sound of Kanzas' voice. Once in position, it moved in a surprisingly fluid fashion toward the human, pushing off in a kind of handspring and flipping toward him; however, he was ready for it.

For once glad of the armguards protecting his skin from the jutting spikes, he countered the machine's jabs and lunges, keeping an eye out for some way to press the attack. The usual vulnerable points weren't apparent here, but he remembered the mining machine from the snowfield and thrust his claw toward a seam in the metal when there was an opening.

It punctured with an odd hiss of air, and he dragged the blades sideways as best he could before the circular blade threatened to take his head off. Ducking away in a lunge, he pulled the claw along as well, leaving hanging jagged edges in his wake and revealing the gears and tubes that helped make the machine run. _I wonder- _

There was another hallway intersecting just a short distance down, and he used the extra space to keep himself moving around the thing, avoiding the blades as best he could and ignoring the few slashes it managed to get in. As fast as it was, with its inner working exposed and vulnerable it was no match for an annoyed Thunder Dragoon.

Paralyzing it temporarily with a bolt of electricity - although it took some effort to generate it in this place - he slipped behind it and grabbed it at the shoulder and upper arm. "Too bad you don't have a brain knocking around in that tin-pail head," he grunted, slamming it face-first into the brick wall. With a forlorn metallic squeak, it slumped forward at the waist and then collapsed into a heap, its bristling weaponry no longer so impressive lying there in the hallway.

Kanzas stood back, satisfied he'd defeated it, but before he could even check the state of his wounds, he caught a glimpse of something further down the connecting passage. Still panting from the exertion of the fight, he simply stared into the shadows, eyes wide and fixed on the shimmer of light. Expecting a teleporting Wingly, he prepared to strike, but he wasn't ready for what was actually there.

The soul he saw was motionless, waiting for him to make out its shape, down on one knee as if in homage with her arms crossed in front of her bare chest. His breath caught in an audible gasp, the tight clench of his fists relaxing as a wave of some unidentifiable emotion crashed through him. His claw-piece clattered to the floor, ringing bell-like through the stillness. Though his lips moved, he couldn't force a sound out, as if he'd reverted to the time after he'd killed her, that year he hadn't had the will to say a word-

She lifted her head, one eye gazing up at him from beneath the ragged blonde fringe of her short hair, and then in a single motion stood up and backward, disappearing into the shadows. Not a moment later, Kanzas ran after her, his objective forgotten as he followed the soul wherever it was leading.

* * *

Standing at the edge of the platform where the small teleporter had dropped them, Syuveil gazed out across the chasm with interest. "Quite a warren," he remarked, "though I suppose it serves as security for the main tower as well, since Winglies can fly right past it."

Damia shuddered, keeping her hand firmly twisted in the hem of his tunic. "Can't we do that, too?" she asked plaintively.

Stephen had let them off near Mayfil's large intercity teleporter before flying away to attack the city's outer structure; they had not gone far before reaching the apparent end of the path, a round platform below the second chamber. Although other platforms dotted the huge area, located both higher and lower than theirs, there was no obvious way for Humans to reach them.

The whole setup seemed to be some kind of convoluted staircase, the small teleporters taking them further and further down around the large central tower, but here where the brick path to one of the transports should have been, there was nothing but ragged rock. The sight of another chamber further below seemed to indicate there had once been one, but it was impossible to tell if this dead end was the fault of the dragons' destruction or the Winglies' defenses.

Shaking his head at her question, the scholar crouched down, inspecting the raised rim of dark brick surrounding them, barely visible in the gloomy greenish dim of the Death City. Streams of souls flickered not far away, drawn into the many various intakes dotting the tower. "As we discussed, we'll have no idea if we'll be able to collect the energy needed to transform here. Since we'll definitely have to be able to fly out once the city falls-"

A rumbling sound punctuated the accent of his words, the platform shaking beneath them. With a frightened cry, Damia pulled at his sleeve to tug him back from the edge. "Watch out! It - it can't be falling already, can it?"

Catching his balance, he retreated a few steps, glancing up to the shadows of the structure above as falling bricks and rubble caught the light of the soul streams. All coils and jags, the city seemed like a hulking, spiny dead thing, more organic than constructed. "No, but the dragons are doing their jobs well," he murmured, hating the odd twisting pain that gripped his gut as he thought of Tsavor, his vassal dragon's final moments repeating in his mind. "They… ah…"

"Syuveil?" She poked at his arm until he looked down, embarrassed by how childish and small she felt, but also afraid of what might happen if she let him continue his obvious obsession with his dragon's death. "How are we supposed to go on?" If it was up to her, they would turn back, but that was impossible now. She drew herself up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath. "We'll _have_ to fly…"

He blinked at her almost owlishly behind his spectacles, reaching for her shoulder to steady her as another tremor shook them. "No - look. Where the rim dips, here, there's a device on each side. See how they jut out?" The Jade Dragoon took a step forward, pressing down on what appeared to be thin air. With a soft buzz, a shimmering path formed between the stone prongs, stretching across the chasm toward another platform not far away. When he lifted his foot, the blue-edged ribbon of light vanished as if it had never been. "Rose spoke of this, didn't she? There may be another way."

Damia's crimson eyes were wide at the thought of trusting herself to something like that. The upper city in Vellweb was bad enough, but a walkway made of energy? "I-I-I don't think we-"

He smiled kindly at her, stepping out again to create the path once more, both feet this time. Despite the sheen of sweat on his forehead, he appeared at ease with standing over what amounted to a bottomless pit. "There's no need to worry. Whatever else you can say about Winglies, their craftsmanship is flawless. We'll hurry. There's no other way, and the others are counting on us to reach the generator here. Come on; I'll go first if you like."

The teenager shook her head quickly, grabbing for his hand and squeezing it tight. "No, let's - let's go together." There really wasn't much time, and she didn't want to make him continue to have to waste it persuading her.

Syuveil nodded quickly, starting forward at a quick pace; after a moment's hesitation, Damia moved along behind him, her fingers clasped almost painfully around his own. He didn't look down, pulling them into a near-jog, and less than a minute later they'd reached the platform at the other end. The girl let out a muffled shriek as the pathway died behind them, but by then her feet were firmly on the stones once more.

"There!" he said brightly, trying to hide his own sense of relief. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Her skin even whiter now than usual, she nodded back, keeping hold of his hand. He chuckled, letting her have the comfort; although he didn't want to admit it, it made him feel better as well to know there was someone there, now that the sensation of having his vassal dragon's emotions always with him was gone. That was a hole that mere closeness couldn't fill, but the other Dragoon was, at least, keeping him from thinking about it quite so much.

Another tremor shook the room, the faint sound of a draconic roar echoing somewhere above, and Damia bit her lip hard. "Let's go," she near-whispered. "There's no teleporter here. Let's cross while we still can."

"Of course." They set out at a fast walk again, following the road of light into the shadows ahead. Unlike the first, however, this one stretched further, eventually reaching only a tiny node which seemed to reflect the path, making it turn sharply to the left. "That's odd..."

He frowned at this, slowing, and as he did so, Damia bumped into him, screeching and throwing her free arm around his waist as if he was an anchor. He let out a curse, stumbling and flinging out his hands to steady them both. "Oh, gods! Don't stop here!" she pleaded, her cheek pressed hard against the spear strapped to his back, the pinch of it the only thing keeping her from losing her head from fear.

"We're going the wrong way," he pointed out, dragging in a deep, almost gasping breath. "I think that's the first chamber we passed through, over there."

"I don't care," she gritted out between clenched teeth. "Please, Syuveil! Let's just get back to something solid!"

Straightening up slowly, the Dragoon sighed, taking a tentative step. "All right," he soothed. "We'll get to the next platform and sort this out there…"

Not responding with words, Damia let go reluctantly, following him further down the path. However, a moment later it was she who stopped them again, ducking as a streak of blue shot past them, her nails digging sharply into the back of the scholar's hand. "What was that?!"

"It-" Keeping his feet firmly planted, he twisted where he stood to follow the apparition with his gaze. "I think it escaped from one of the streams. A specter of some sort?" He watched with obvious fascination as the thing turned. "Are those arms-?"

Was he actually trying to _study_ it? "Is it coming back?" she demanded, wondering if she dared try to wield her hammer while they still hung in midair. Even knowing that she had the Dragoon Spirit, that there were wings to catch her like before, she certainly didn't want to have to find out if it would work the same way this time.

"Looks like it," the young man murmured, reaching back for his spear; much to her relief, he did not yet tug his hand from hers. "Get ready, Damia, here it-" Mayfil suddenly shuddered around them; unlike before, the tremor this time seemed to increase in intensity, a roaring sound filling the air, louder and louder despite the source being nowhere in sight. An overhang dangling not far ahead crumbled, huge chunks of brick breaking free and falling, to Syuveil's eyes, almost in slow motion toward the platform at the other end of their path. "Oh Soa, get rea-"

The rubble sheared through the prongs like a knife, and not a second later the solid bridge beneath their feet became mist and faded into the darkness. Her terrified cry rang out, just as it had in Vellweb months ago; Syuveil desperately tried to keep hold of her as he plunged into the shadows below, tried to call for his spirit, but her fingers, slick with sweat, slid from his.

"_Damia_!" he screamed, seeing only a blur of blue slamming against the edge of a lower platform, and then a sharp pain in his head sent an explosion of color across his vision, and he saw no more.

* * *

Her bow held ready in front of her, Shirley made her way down a passageway which was oddly full of light. The floor beneath her feet was semi-transparent, some swirling mass of color and liquid roiling below, and part of her mind couldn't help but admire its colors even as the rest of her hurried to cross over it nervously. The rest, however, was caught up in the small points of light that seemed to drift past her, floating along like moonlit snowfall.

_Just… don't look at them. They can't hurt you, _she tried to reassure herself, rushing onward. At least one of them had already completed their mission; the tremors from the explosion had forced her to stop and wait so she wouldn't fall on her face, even though it hadn't seemed close by.

That meant she could afford to dawdle even less, however, for although she had grudgingly agreed they needed to split up in order to approach and infiltrate the city, both she and Belzac had drawn the line at any one of them fighting the ruler of Mayfil alone. Once the generator was destroyed, she had to find Rose; they were all supposed to meet up with her before moving on to confront the Overseer together, but she had a feeling the Darkness Dragoon wouldn't wait for long.

_"Shirley - stop - can you hear me?"_

The red-haired woman's quick, almost fearful jog suddenly halted, and she twisted around to find the source of the oddly familiar voice, finding nothing but more specks of light. "Huh - what? Who are you? Come out and face me!" she called, slowly reaching back for an arrow.

One of the glowing orbs brightened, drifting closer, almost directly in front of her. In the odd light of the hallway, she thought she could see the vague highlights and shadows of a face drifting above it, a realization that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. _"It's been so long since I've seen you,"_ the man said, although she was half sure no sound was reaching her ears. _"You were a child, then. Oh, you look just like Lynae…"_

Her eyes narrowed suddenly, and then she blurted, "Wait, you're… my father?" As young as she'd been when her owner's death had pulled their family apart, she thought she could still remember him, if only a little - the sound of his laugh, the scratchiness of his beard against her face. "I knew you'd… passed," Shirley continued lamely, "but I didn't expect to find you in this place."

_"I won't go on without my family, all of you - they can't force me to. The connection's too strong," _he explained with obvious longing. _"I just spoke with your brother as well, or tried to-"_

"You did?" She frowned, feeling a strange tightening in her chest of sorrow and disappointment. She'd always hoped, somewhere in the back of her mind, that her missing elder sibling was still alive, but it seemed that wasn't the case. Her mother would be so sad to find out- "He's here?"

_"Yes. You didn't know? Shirley-" _Before he could say anything further, the dark shape of a clawed hand shot out of the shadows, closing around the soft ball of light and squeezing. She heard her father's voice cry out before being cut off suddenly in mid-scream.

"I think that's quite enough of that. Don't you?" a male voice asked laughingly.

Choking back a cry of her own, Shirley shoved away quickly, staring in horror. The being before her was like none she'd ever seen. Vaguely human-shaped, he was tall and scantily clad, possessing gray skin and crimson eyes that appeared to be mere gashes in its skull. Curled horns protruded from the sides of his head, and bat-like wings stretched upward behind his form. "You're - a devil?!"

"Indeed. My name is Menon, dear child, very pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, bowing extravagantly. "I'm sure we'll get to know each other quite well, yes?"

She flinched at the leer in his tone, holding the bow before her as if it could shield her at all. "W-what - why did you-?" _What did you do to my father? _her mind raged, though she couldn't give it voice.

"Oh, now, don't mind that. I'm sure you're not here for a family reunion. There must be other reasons… like this?" Gesturing grandly, he swept his arms up and forward, a smear of darkness forming in the gap between his claw-fingered hands, and Shirley could only watch uneasily. The shadow coalesced into a small figure, gaining limbs and definition, and then discernible features, until at last it was finally revealed. The young girl the devil held out toward her had long, dark hair and dark eyes, a metal collar and chain encircling her slender throat.

The cruelty of what she was seeing made her dizzy for a moment, her head spinning as she tried to reject the reality of it. But it was impossible - she'd seen that face in her dreams many times, had looked into those eyes over and over again as her guilt forced her to relive the moment she'd murdered the child.

Dried blood encrusted the entire front of the slave's tunic, and fresh continued to well out from around the blade still embedded in the center of her chest. The gash was larger than the blade which had caused it, as the ending of the Dragoon transformation had returned it to its normal size. "I thought she was dead," was all she could whisper.

"Oh, she is, darling. At least, mostly." Hands beneath her arms, Menon lifted the girl up like a sacrificial offering. She moaned softly, blinking down at the archer, and Shirley let out a cry, trying to keep her balance as she fought against the emotional blows of guilt and dread. "You must have had so much fun the first time, so I thought I'd let you finish the job."

"Stop it!" she demanded as her stomach lurched, quickly blinking away the tears that threatened to blur her vision. "Put her down, let her go!"

"Why don't you make me?" he rejoined childishly.

Trying to control her trembling, Shirley reached back to her quiver in response, hesitating for a brief second before pulling out two arrows at once. Catching one between her teeth as she brought them forward, she drew back the other on the string, leveling it at Menon with a scowl.

He laughed with delight, holding the little girl higher, not coincidentally shielding much of his torso with her body. When she adjusted her aim, as if to shoot him over the girl's shoulder, he moved her again, taunting, "Ooh, ooh, can you? Do you think so?"

The Dragoon's breath caught; even as long as she had been practicing with the bow, she was not so sure of her aim that she would risk trying to shoot the devil around the child - and that was assuming he wouldn't move her into its path anyway. _What am I supposed to do? I _won't _hurt her again!_

The girl's large, dark eyes seemed to plead at her, though she made no sound, and above her Menon's inhuman expression was one of sadistic glee. "What _are_ you going to do, Human?" he asked as if reading her mind. "Every moment you waste struggling with your dismal, boring morality, she suffers a bit more. So much kinder to put an end to it, wouldn't you say?"

_Don't talk to me about kindness, _Shirley thought back, pulling the arrow back a little further despite the force it took to do so. Winglies rarely practiced archery, having no need for it with their magic, and they often underestimated the killing power of arrows as compared to that of a sword. She could only hope that devils thought the same.

The bowstring twanged as she let it go, dropping the bow at the last minute from Menon's face downward. Sixty pounds of pressure drove the arrow through the devil's foot and into the glassy floor with a gritty crunching sound, and the second arrow she'd been holding in her teeth soon followed, pinning his other foot a moment later.

He cried out in surprise, obviously not expecting that, and as he wobbled, unbalanced, she whipped another arrow from her quiver and shot again. Menon jolted backward, the dart embedded through his throat, wet, outraged gurgles emanating from his lips. Bright, red blood trickled down his chin as well as from the arrow's point of entry, and was already pooling over the cracked glass beneath his feet.

Any Human or Wingly would have been dead, but Shirley felt her hand trembling around her longbow's grip as the devil straightened, wings spreading to help him stay upright. Deliberately, he seized the girl's chain and swung her outward, dangling her by her collar as she suddenly choked and pulled at it, writhing in midair.

His lips formed words his damaged vocal cords wouldn't let him utter, but the Dragoon wasn't paying attention to that. Her heart thudding wildly in her chest, the red-haired woman shot another arrow with a silent prayer for her aim, not at the devil's exposed chest but rather for the wrist of the hand holding the child. It pierced through with another spray of red, his fingers going slack and the chain slipping from them.

Shirley jerked into motion, running toward him, sliding her arm between bow and string so she'd have both hands free. His red eyes, filled with hatred, bored into her, and he raised his other hand-

"White-Silver Dragon!" she gasped, and in response to her plea the spirit orb bouncing on its chain around her neck burst into a bright white glow, blinding the devil as she ducked down to grab up the dark-haired girl on the floor at his feet. He burbled his outrage around the arrow in his throat, slamming his fist into her back without seeing as she passed him and forcing a gasp of pain from her as she lurched forward.

Sliding and skidding on the slick surface of Menon's blood, she twisted as she fell to absorb the shock and protect the child, who was limp in her arms. As quickly as she could, despite the protests of her spine, she pushed up to her knees, staring down at the small figure. The fear and pain in the girl's eyes had not diminished, her face drawn and sunken in the white light of the Dragoon Spirit, and Shirley's expression was anguished as she breathed out, "I'm so sorry… I didn't mean it. Can you forgive me? I-"

The girl sighed a bit, smiling just slightly before turning her head to glance toward Menon, and the Dragoon followed her gaze briefly, watching as the devil tore the arrow from his wrist. No, he was far from killed, and there wasn't much time.

"I'll make this stop now," Shirley promised, her words tumbling over one another quickly as tears welled up in her eyes. "You'll go where it's bright and warm - can you see it?" She reached for the hilt of the dagger she'd driven into the young slave's chest, watching her long lashes flutter, watching her nod very slowly. _I won't let them harm you anymore. I won't _let _them!_ "Just close your eyes, you can see it right ahead, can't you? Everything will be all right there. You'll see…"

When the girl's eyes had closed, she pulled the dagger from her chest quickly, expecting a spurt of blood, of paroxysms of pain, but instead the small body simply relaxed, a long breath leaving her chest, which didn't rise again. Above her, a small light coalesced, visible even through the waning light of Shirley's spirit orb, growing brighter and brighter. The soul moved in a quick spiral around her, tousling her red hair in its wake, before rising up and vanishing on its way.

Tears trickling down her cheeks, Shirley quickly turned her head to face the devil, adjusting her grip on the stained dagger as she moved to stand up. He'd pulled out the arrows she'd shot and they lay on the ground at his feet, the one from his throat still in his grip and covered in his bright blood. He stood there staring at her, appearing little worse for wear despite the dripping puncture points visible on his body. However, Menon's eyes were wide, his expression one of horror, and he let the arrow fall with a wooden clatter. "It… can't be!"

Startled, she couldn't even say a word in response before he stepped back, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as he'd arrived. _Couldn't believe I got past him, saved her? I shouldn't complain, but something feels wrong…_

Biting her lip, she tucked the dagger into her belt and reached to squeeze her spirit orb in her hand before slowly approaching the place where the devil had stood. Colored liquid, thick and viscous, was oozing up through the cracks in the glass floor, and she quickly grabbed up her arrows, trying not to touch the stained areas; she couldn't afford to waste her limited ammunition no matter how much she wanted to leave the tainted darts behind.

Pausing to lower her head sorrowfully as she passed the girl's body, and murmuring a farewell, Shirley then hurried on toward the generator still waiting ahead. Hopefully, there would be nothing else standing in her way.

* * *

Although the city was beginning to tear itself apart around them, here before the Gate a patch of brick remained still. Seemingly alone but for the gray shape on her shoulder, the Wingly Overseer stood there, blank eyes staring equally blankly into the darkness ahead, one hand loosely grasping a grotesque scythe. Despite the destruction, a steady flow of souls continued to pass overhead and through the shimmering film of the Gate behind her, drawn inexorably to their final destination.

Dark wisps of flame sprouted suddenly before her, and Ieo turned her head, 'looking' down as a devil appeared at her feet. Drawing himself up, Menon placed his fist to his chest and bowed, but something about him seemed almost flustered, a sense of having run instead of teleported. Streaks of dried blood stained his gray skin, though there was no longer any evidence of wounds.

"Mistress," he choked out, resentfully biting back the rest of his message until he was acknowledged. The agreement between the Devildom and the Winglies, however, meant a certain protocol was required even in circumstances like this.

Zackwell stretched almost languorously from his perch on the Overseer's bare, pale shoulder, the little spiky form leaning forward as if to look down at the other devil. "Menon," he said, channeling the silenced woman's voice through his flesh. "It seems you do not come to report your success."

"Mistress, it's a - it's - the woman is - they brought an eversoul!" he cried, stretching out his clawed hands and flexing them in frustration.

There was a pause, a tiny frown line forming between her arched brows, and Menon knew that he'd surprised her. This was not part of her plan. "She still lives, then."

He hissed at the unspoken question. "Of course! I wouldn't risk unleashing it here!"

Fresh blood welled from Ieo's skin as Zackwell shifted in consternation, sitting back again on spindly legs. "Is she trained?" he asked for her.

Menon shook his head. "No - no, she seems to have no idea…"

"Then a chance remains." There was another moment of silence, and then she lifted her arm, removing the devil from her shoulder and stretching her hand forth. He leapt from her fingers, reshaping as he fell, and stood from the ground in his true form, tall, gray-skinned, two horns sprouting from the crest of his head. "Don't worry about the eversoul, Menon," Zackwell said, grinning in anticipation as the smaller devil bristled in response. "She's my job now."

"And while you're having fun, the entire city falls around us," he hissed back with a quick glance to Ieo. The Wingly woman made no indication that she'd heard, or was even paying attention, simply standing there as if carved from stone.

Zackwell chuckled, unconcerned. "The Gate, here, is all that matters; as useful as it is, in the end Mayfil's only brick and metal, as easily reformed as a body from a soul. And speaking of such, Menon, Mistress is in need of a certain one, brought right here. Melbu Frahma's stolen slave will be coming back to us soon, and we'd like to make the poor little dragon-child feel properly at home."

Although he glowered, the other devil finally nodded, bowing again to the Overseer before stepping back and vanishing. A moment later, Zackwell did the same, leaving Ieo alone in wait.

Her bound lips curved up slightly. It would not be long now.


	16. Chapter Fifteen, Part Two

Author's Note: I really didn't want to split up this chapter any further, but these beginning parts were done, so I figured I would just put them up in order to break the dry spell. Many thanks to you readers and reader/reviewers who have stuck with me for so long! More flashbacks abound; again, let me know if any part is too confusing and I'll try to clear it up.

_"Searching for what she can't find  
For her own peace of mind  
She can't forgive, nor forget the past  
These ineffable feelings and hurt that last evermore  
Bewail the truth, the face of fate, and conquer all the past..."  
_--Epica, "Veniality"

"Healer, Killer"  
By Amanda Swiftgold

Chapter Fifteen, Part Two

The floor was hard beneath him, the spear strapped to his back pressing uncomfortably against his spine as he lay in a sprawl. A wealth of aches and pains were making themselves known, but Syuveil didn't move, taking a careful inventory of possible injuries.

There were bruises, certainly, and his head felt like it was on fire; he could smell the tang of blood, its stickiness pooled beneath his cheek. The realization that his head was injured made him open his eyes, however unwilling, but at the brightness of the light he cursed and quickly closed them again.

Eyes still kept tightly shut, he slowly twisted himself around, pushing into a seated position, untangling his legs. All limbs working - good. He must not have dropped very far, or else something had broken his fall. Syuveil ran his fingers through his bloody hair, grimacing a bit at the damp coolness of it. He could probably count himself lucky that he'd woken up at all, though, with his head bleeding and no one around to tend it this time. Or was there?

"Damia?" Covering his eyes with his newly stained hand, he peered between his fingers until he got accustomed to the light here; although it wasn't nearly as strong as daylight, it still hurt. "Damia, are you here?"

Nothing answered his call, only the faint echoes of his voice returning to his ears, and he frowned, letting his hand fall as he looked around once more. However, his survey only revealed what he'd already realized - he and Damia had been separated.

Remaining where he was, Syuveil looked around the room he'd ended up in. What he'd thought was a constant radiance was now revealed to be a steady stream of small lights, flying upward and past him through a grid into the darkness above; he couldn't recall falling through it, although the gaps between the bars were certainly big enough to allow it. The floor below him was transparent, and a many-colored liquid swirled beneath, the shiny blues and golds giving him the uneasy feeling of sitting in an ocean's shallows, though not getting wet.

Swaying as if waves were indeed rushing against his ankles, he finally pushed up to his feet, blinking again to clear his vision and then patting at his face as he noticed his glasses were gone. A quick search of the area revealed nothing, and with a muttered curse he finally staggered toward the dark archway that loomed in the wall across the room. It was the only path available to him, and no matter where it led, or the state of his wounds, he had to follow it.

Syuveil entered the hallway, feeling the darkness of the tunnel swallow him, and as the light faded behind him a sense of dread, of sudden fear, settled in. With Tsavor dead and Damia lost, he felt entirely, terrifyingly _alone_.

Trailing one hand along the wall to keep his position, he trudged forward, his footsteps on the brick matching the sharp throbs of pain echoing through his skull. Although the thought had occurred that he could use his Dragoon Spirit to try to locate the half-mermaid in the same way Shirley had described before, he knew that he wouldn't be able to concentrate until his headache cleared. Until then, he just had to keep going. It was important to stay awake when you had a head wound - he'd learned that during the fight in Fort Magrad, and it annoyed him now that he'd suffered that injury again, if perhaps less serious this time.

The path rose as it curved around, giving him hope, and a small smile crossed his face as he saw light ahead of him. Syuveil stepped into it to find that he was indeed above the room where he'd landed, looking down into it through the odd grid that made up its ceiling.

"The souls seem to rise through the floor," he observed a bit fuzzily, speaking aloud as if to remind himself that he was still awake. "Or is it merely energy? Can't tell from here… they seem smaller than the souls we saw earlier." He took a few steps closer, eyes half-closed as he peered toward the chasm. "Some seem to pass through the grid, but the others… hah, Winglies _do_ like invisible pathways, don't they?"

"It's probably because they rarely have to use them."

He spun around at the sound of that voice, although the room continued spinning quite a bit longer. Swaying and trying to force away the dizziness, he reached back with some reluctance to unhook the spear hanging from its strap on his back. "Shynn… I never thought I'd see you again."

"Yes, I know." The spirit stood in front of the doorway leading out of the chamber, appearing just as he had in life, pale skin and dark hair, with no evidence of his violent death or even of the madness that had seized him before he had fallen from the tower circle. Wrapped in his navy cloak, he held his double-bladed sword at his side, watching his childhood friend closely. "I wasn't sure we'd ever meet again, either. But now you're here…" He raised his free hand, flexing gloved fingers as if testing their responsiveness. "And so am I."

Slowly, Syuveil brought the weapon forward, setting it on guard before him and trying to hide how off-balance he was. If this came to a fight, he knew already that he would have the worst of it. "I don't want to fight you. No matter what happened, even though-"

"Even though I betrayed you, betrayed Diaz? Even then?" he asked, raising his sword in front of him in the same guarded way. "What if I want to fight _you_, Dragoon, and step out of your shadow just once?"

"My shadow?" he repeated slowly. "I never…"

The man shook his head, one corner of his mouth lifting in a patronizing smile. "Yes, you never meant it to be that way, I know. But that's how it was, regardless. Not quite your parents' son, though they took me in; not quite your brother, though I was raised with you. Even when we escaped Zenebatos, it was because of _your_ planning, and then, though we both served Diaz, _you_ were the one chosen as a Dragoon!"

"I never realized," Syuveil said quietly, his heart sinking at the extent of his friend's jealousy. Though he'd always been aware of it, in some way, knowing how far back it went stung deeply. "If I'd known, maybe it would have… but still, what you did… that was inexcusable, Shynn!"

"You don't understand. I never wanted friendship and honor to be handed to me on a platter, given out of pity!" His voice, which had grown louder with rage and frustration, broke suddenly, descending to nearly a whisper as he went on, "And yet… in the end, I challenged the dragon, I defeated it as fairly as you, only to have the spirit instead choose some… some girl who hadn't even _fought_ for the chance!"

He frowned, blinking quickly as if that would make his eyes focus again. "Damia's proven herself since, not least by setting foot in this place, and besides, it certainly wasn't her choice!" The Jade Dragoon sighed, suddenly leaning heavily on his spear. "I can't fight you, Shynn, I won't. I'm not as… lucky as you think. I might've killed her with my recklessness; I have to find her-"

Inscrutable gray eyes regarded him during his outburst, and then softly he interrupted with, "She isn't dead, yet. She isn't a spirit."

Startled, he straightened up again. "You can tell?"

"Of course I can. How else may a spirit know when the soul they are bound to comes to join them?" Raising his blades, he swung them before him almost idly, slowly advancing on the scholar. "We who have not passed through the Gate into Hell remain here only because of our bonds with the living, and once again, Syuveil, the only reason I am not yet there is thanks to _you_-"

Instinctively trying to draw back, Syuveil felt the heel of his boot slide off the edge of the precipice, and he let out a yelp as he tried to right himself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shynn lunge toward him, and a piece of his mind, even enveloped in panic as it was, was ready to find out exactly what lay beyond living existence…

However, instead of the stab to the chest he expected, he felt pressure at the back of his neck as he was suddenly jerked back upright and a few steps away from the edge. The other man let go of his cloak, and, too dizzy to stand, Syuveil collapsed on knees made of jelly, gasping for breath.

"I was going to tell you," Shynn said suddenly, the evenness of his voice completely shattered now. "I was going to tell you what I was planning but there you were with that arrogant ass of a man, and all I could think was that already another Dragoon had replaced me! Syu, believe me… I shouldn't have done it, but I meant to kill Fara and take back the girl once I had the spirit, I swear it!"

"I believe you," he got out placatingly, hoping that he could somehow avert a repeat of the madness of that night. "I believe you. I did even then, remember?"

He nodded, though frowning deeply, still holding the double-bladed sword aloft. "Yes… and so you should know that I was charged by the devils of Mayfil to fight you, to kill you, to delay you from your goal - and I accepted this, ever more betrayal in return for your loyalty!"

There was a sudden blur of silver in Syuveil's vision, and then a metallic ringing sounded on the floor nearby. "Shynn?" he whispered in disbelief, staring blearily upward at him.

"Once a traitor, always a traitor," Shynn explained sardonically, though he softened his words with a smile, as rare on his face in life as it seemed now. "Devils' orders or no, my will is my own, and I choose to help you now, even if it won't right the mistake I made." Before Syuveil could respond, he leaned forward and placed his gloved hand on the Dragoon's bloody hair, glowing with a pale golden light.

He choked back a disbelieving breath as the throbbing ceased within his skull, as the dizziness ceased and his vision focused again, as much as it ever did without his spectacles. "How did you-?"

His friend grasped his elbow to help him back to his feet as he said, "Spirits are made of energy, and without the limits of a Human body, my energy can take the shape I want it to. So, I used some to heal you. Winglies can use their energy while alive, of course, but their bodies are made for it."

"But _how_, if that's the case?" Syuveil pressed, intrigued by this. "You seem as solid as I am." Apparently, he had much still to learn about what existed beyond death, and for a fleeting moment he regretted the need to destroy this place. Still, the discovery that Human ghosts could apparently use magic was a great one indeed.

Shynn chuckled at the intensity of the curiosity on his friend's face. "This body was given to me by one of the devils so I could fight you; its flesh is just imitation, so I can work around it." The amusement faded quickly, and he frowned. "But there's little time for this, Syu. I was told your targets were the six generators…"

The Dragoon nodded pensively. "Yes. We came down into the city as close as we could to our goals, so, assuming I didn't fall too far off-course, ours should be the nearest one." Perhaps Damia had made her way there as well, he added to himself silently. As unlikely as that seemed, he had to allow himself to hope it would be true.

Silent for a moment, his eyes growing unfocused, Shynn then snapped back to himself with a curt nod. "That way," he said, pointing leftward at a doorway set into the wall above the grid. Picking up his sword once more, he stepped out onto what appeared to be an empty square before turning to beckon the scholar forward. "Follow where I go exactly unless you _want_ to fall."

"Again," he muttered, paying close attention to where he was placing his feet as he followed the spirit along the invisible pathway. Although he couldn't discount the notion that he was being led into a trap, something within him wanted to trust his friend as he once had, and in any case he was inclined to be grateful for the healing.

Several careful minutes later and they had made it across the grid, running forward through the passage that lay beyond. "Not much further now," Shynn told him, showing no signs of being winded.

Syuveil, however, slowed to catch his breath and gazed upward as several small balls of light, similar to the ones he'd seen before, flitted past overhead. "Those… are souls," he began. "Like you."

"They go to their destinations, free of the bonds of life." The dark-cloaked man turned to beckon at him again, pointing forward like a guiding ghost about to show him his future. The light of the passage ahead had a bright, greenish glow that obscured the details of the pathway. "And our destination lies just ahead."

He readjusted his spear in his hands, giving Shynn a terse nod, and then they ran forward together, bursting into the generator room - which was deserted except for the low, glowing shape of the device in question, which was set into the floor. Syuveil let out a low breath of relief. "Well. Now to destroy it…"

He had taken only one step inside, his mouth opened to ask about the emptiness, when there was a sudden flare of shadow between him and the dome. "You!" a raspy feminine voice croaked from within the blackness as it resolved itself into a tall, spindly shape. "You were reanimated to slow him down, not help him!"

He reeled back, raising his spear defensively as Shynn beside him did the same with his own weapon. As curious as Syuveil had been to see the devils that Rose had described, the reality of the thing's snarling visage immediately repulsed him. Eyes a smear of red, horns and wide, leathery wings, strips of cloth barely covering a female form - though he was unable to see every detail clearly, he gritted his teeth, knowing what was soon to come.

Shynn smirked at the devil, shifting forward a bit in preparation to strike. "That was quite a mistake on your part, wasn't it?"

"Will you still be laughing when I take that body from you?" the devil sneered, raising a claw-fingered hand. However, her expression suddenly froze as nothing happened. "What-"

The human man tried to hide his own look of surprise, chuckling shakily. "Perhaps only the one who fashioned this form for me can take it away?"

"You can go and find them," Syuveil offered, tucking his spear under his arm. "Of course, by then we'll have finished what we came for!"

One glance toward his friend was all he needed, and without any further words, they charged the devil together, splitting off in opposite directions as they reached the infuriated being waiting for them. Fuming at the dead Human, the devil turned to swipe at him as Syuveil tried to slip around behind her. However, her tail whipped toward him, forcing him to turn his strike into a blocking maneuver.

The surprise gone, the two continued to circle the devil, trying to get in a blow. However, she moved quickly and efficiently, razor-sharp claws slicing gashes into both of them, although Shynn did not bleed, unlike the Jade Dragoon; whatever material made up his body absorbed the wounds as if they were nothing. Realizing this, he tried to put himself between the devil and Syuveil, his double blades whirling in a blur of silver.

Aiming carefully as her attention was focused on Shynn, the scholar rushed in from the side, holding his spear like a lance and driving his entire weight against it as he felt it pierce flesh. The devil whirled, flinging him away as his grip slipped from the wood. She let out a hideous howl, grasping at the spear and wrenching it from her side, only to be met by the blade of a sword goring her chest and knocking her to the brick below.

Resisting the urge to cover his ears against that horrible screaming, Syuveil moved to pick up his spear, but his head jerked upward as he heard a sudden pained gasping from his friend. "Shynn?" he asked, wondering what could have caused it in someone seemingly invincible.

From the other side of the devil, Shynn was breathing hard, covered in the devil's blood, which had sprayed from her wound. Even as he watched, his hands, gloves and all, were slowly crumbling into dust. "It's the blood," he forced out. Below him, the devil grinned, her lips twisted into a feral, hateful expression. "Hurry, the generator, go-"

"How am I supposed to destroy it?" he asked urgently, half-turning that way.

"Attack it!" came the response. "I don't think it's shielded, they never figured this would happen - hurry!"

Feeling reluctant, he nevertheless did as he had been urged, calling on his Dragoon Spirit and watching the phantom leaves swirling around him before solidifying into the mystical armor. Flapping his shimmering wings to gain altitude, he dove for the glowing dome, delivering strike after strike to its surface with the double spearhead. Several long cracks formed along its surface, leaking a luminous green energy, but after several long moments it seemed to stay contained.

Frowning, he rose up again, feeling his power diminishing as it always did, and then after a second thought turned and looped back downward. "Come on, let's go!"

Though Shynn had moved away from the devil's pooling blood, pieces of his imitation flesh were still flaking away, drifting around his feet like dust. He looked at the generator, shaking his head, and then his expression set resolutely. "It didn't break through!"

"I know!" he cried back. "Come on, we'll go together!"

"Don't be stupid! I'm dead, Syu! How will you run in time if you lose your Dragoon power?" Staggering slightly, he reached with mangled, crumbling hands to wrench the blade from the devil's chest. She snarled and swiped at him, though he evaded clumsily and then ran for the dome. "I'll take care of it! Your job's not done here."

"Shynn!" He hesitated, but inwardly he realized that this was the best thing, the only thing, that they could do. All he'd wanted was to be one of them, to have his own moment of glory… "Thank you," he said, unconsciously softly.

Poised on the metal rim of the generator's dome, the dark-haired man looked like a splotch against the glow, his arms wrapped now around the central hilt of his sword as his fingers were now too deteriorated to be of use. "Fly that way," he called up, gesturing with his head. "The Overseer waits by the Gate; I can feel her there, feel its pull. I'm sorry that we'll never meet again-"

Syuveil was already flying as the words hit his ears, his head bowed against both the rush of the air and the equal onrush of sorrow as the device rumbled and burst behind him into a pillar of energy and light, its explosion propelling him ever faster onward even as it dissolved the soul in its midst…

* * *

The sound of waves rolling against the shore filled her mind, chasing away the emptiness. She'd fallen all the way to the sea, all the way home, but she'd thought they wouldn't let Humans go to Heaven…

Slowly, through the darkness, her senses awakened - the gritty softness of wet sand beneath her cheek and arm, an odd, sickening meaty smell on the air. Despite that, however, Damia reveled in the warm breeze, the humidity, the sun beating down on her back in a way she hadn't felt since she had been freed, since snowbound Vellweb had become her home.

Soon more sounds, that of voices, began filtering through to her, but she couldn't force her eyes open yet, couldn't make her limbs respond, and so she continued to lie there, listening. Gradually, within the noise of the distant water, she could make out hushed sobbing, and the crackle of a large fire not far away. The sense of peace she felt began to be replaced with a creeping terror that clutched at her heart as if it had fingers.

Finally, despite her reluctance, Damia knew she couldn't wait any longer. She struggled to sit upright, unable to move her hands out from behind her, eyes opening to take in what she'd expected: the beach stretching out behind her, the sound of the waves and the brightness of the sun above. Leaning on her elbow, she turned to look behind her, toward the waterline, and gasped in horror.

The pyre was huge, its smoke billowing up into the cerulean sky, and on it lay the curled, fishy bodies of the mermaids, her people. Her mother. Each was being devoured by the flame, the scent of melting fat and burning hair invading her nostrils and making her gag. A few Wingly soldiers tended the fire, their forms nearly lost within the clouds of gray.

She had forgotten, or at least had tried to, pushing back the memory until it only returned in her dreams, and now she could only stare, transfixed, at what was happening all over again.

Damia had not been the only half-breed born to the Loreley of Prism Island; their kind's males were ugly, looking half reptile instead of humanoid, and, thus shunned, the pureblooded mermen lived in their own colonies elsewhere. The two came together only occasionally to propagate the species before parting again, and so dalliances with Human sailors were common among the mermaids.

The other children surrounded her now, bound as she was, metal slave collars fastened around their necks and ropes tying their hands behind them. The soldiers had separated them into two obvious groups based on their appearances, and she was with the others who also looked more Human, lacking scales, or fins, or feelers. In both cases, only the half-breeds remained; what few pureblooded children there had been were slaughtered with their mothers and were burning on the beach as well.

They all seemed so small and young, although she had been just the same when this had really happened; that vague realization that this was a memory kept her from flying off the brink into madness as she struggled to adjust to what was going on. Most of those who were conscious were crying piteously, struggling with their bonds, and although Damia wished she could do the same, wished she could transform and help them somehow, she was dismally aware that there was nothing she could do but watch.

In the corner of her vision, she could see two of the guards making their way back from the smoky pyre just before she could hear them. Not all Winglies were rich, elite rulers, and these soldiers' accents were rougher than the usual cultured lilt. Although a part of her was wondering why she suddenly understood their language when she never had before, the rest was too petrified with fear to even notice.

The two wore the same brown armor as all the commoners in Frahma's army; one was shorter than the other, and his pale skin looked distinctly green as he tried to get a breath of fresher air. "Ah, this reek!" he complained loudly. "My stomach's gonna turn!"

"Here, take a draught of this," his companion said, pulling a small metal flask from the pouch on his belt and tossing it at him. "Try to keep it down, now; it came dear."

He took a swig of what was obviously liquor before handing it back and wiping his mouth. "Thanks. Don't know why we have to burn 'em, they gonna smell like that…"

The Wingly rolled his eyes upward as if thinking hard. "I dunno," he said expansively, "it sorta just smells like the cookfire."

The shorter one retched violently at that, but managed to keep from throwing up. "That's rotten wicked of you!" he protested once he'd straightened, clutching at his gut. "Don't you laugh-"

"No, I'm not, swear it!" he lied through his chuckling. "Just makes me wonder, is all. Whaddya wager them mers taste like, chicken or fish?"

"Both, likely - I ain't gonna find out!"

"Not even on a wager? I got five gold pieces here that say-"

"Shut it! No bets, I'm hardly keepin' it down as it is! Besides, Soa forbids it; they're intelligent species and not for eating. They even breed with Humans-"

"Tch, you lily bastard, the apes'll breed with anything. Dogs, horses, Gigantos, _fish_ - it don't mean it's intelligent if a Human'll roll it!"

"Then you go eat one! I ain't doin' it!"

"Scared of damnation? You ain't gonna get damned no matter what you do." He turned suddenly to glare at the bound half-breeds on the beach nearby. "We ain't like these things, these _freaks_ - these freaks, they weren't made by Soa, they're chicken-fish and there ain't no reason they should live!"

"Stop that, stop it, the commander'll have your hide, these are to go to Aglis, just leave off-"

Ignoring his comrade, the soldier grabbed a cowering boy by the collar around his neck, hauling him up off the sand and giving him a shake. "You ain't a Wingly, what reason you got to have those eyes? You freak, I'll tear 'em out-"

Screams erupted from some of the other children, but none louder than from the boy himself, the horrible sound filling the air as the man wrenched a dagger from his belt and began to fumble for the terrified child's crimson eyes with its point. His cry grew in intensity and then was suddenly silenced as the soldier, frustrated, slashed across his throat; blood sprayed forth, spattering the man's face, and he quickly dropped the body to the sand with a curse. The chaos suddenly stilled again, only the soft unconscious keening of some of the others remaining, mixed with the rumbling of the waves on the beach.

The Wingly was quickly pulled back by the other, who had been tugging on his arm, his expression dismayed as he rambled out, "Damn it, stop it, look, the commander'll kill you, look, he could've sold that, they're all to be sold, we could've got a better share-"

Mumbling under his breath, the man shook off his comrade's hands, straightening himself out a bit, panting for breath. He still clutched the bloody dagger, staring around at the rest of them, and Damia, along with the others, closed her eyes tightly against his gaze.

"Come on," the other one continued, "just let's bring it to the fire, leave the things alone! If you don't sober up before they get back it'll be worse on you."

She kept her eyes squeezed closed, listening to the grit of the sand as the Winglies dragged the boy's corpse toward the pyre further down the beach. Damia wanted to cry; she could feel the constriction of her throat and the stinging behind her eyelids, but the tears fought with the burn of anger in her chest and were consumed by it.

She could stop this, she could kill them - she would transform and she would save them! Pushing herself up off the warm sand, her hands flying from their formerly 'bound' position behind her, the girl's eyes blinked open in a glare of rage-

And Damia screamed at the sight of the visage hovering over her, attempting to scrabble backward over the rubble on which she lay. One hand lashed out futilely toward the figure, and she cried out again as her fingers connected with something solid, a loud _crack_ echoing through the hallway.

The mermaid looked back at her blankly, the evidence of her daughter's blow quickly fading from her scaled, oddly purple-hued face. Long white feelers drifted just above her wavy blue hair, the ends of her arms terminating in wide fins rather than hands. A large, jagged hole marred her midsection, and Damia could now remember all too well the Wingly harpoon slamming through her, though she had tried so hard to forget it.

Whimpering slightly, the young Dragoon stared at her, pressed back against the wall of the passage she'd fallen into. A pained expression twisting her face, her mother met her eyes and then shoved herself backward and into the air, her magic allowing her to 'swim' just above the ground as if hovering there.

She muttered to herself, too low to hear, and Damia recovered enough of her wits to push to her feet, grabbing up her hammer from where it had ended up nearby. "You're just a trick," she said softly, trying to make herself believe it. "You're just a trick to hurt me, you aren't real…"

At the sound of her voice, the mermaid stretched out her finned hand, staring in a blank, uncontrolled way. "Da… mia…"

"G-get away from me!" she shrieked, swiping wildly in front of her with her weapon as if to create a shield with the swings. "You aren't real, you aren't-" Her voice suddenly left her mouth without a sound as she felt the coldness piercing her, icicles stabbing into her chest like knife blades.

The tears did fall now, hot tears of pain and disbelief as she realized her mother had attacked her, but despite it she pushed forward, forcing herself to keep swinging as she ran blindly down the hallway to her right.

"Syuveil!" she shouted tearfully as she ran, looking about quickly in the hopes that he had fallen somewhere nearby. But what if he was dead, or dying even now, and he couldn't answer her - what if she ran right by? But no, she had to keep going- "Syuveil! Please, where are you? I don't want to do this alone!"

Nothing came back in response except echoes, and with a hitched breath she felt across her chest. Water and blood soaked the front of her leather tunic; the heat of her body had quickly melted the icicles, leaving only the gashes behind. It was much harder to breathe than normal, even for running, and she was soon forced to slow down, gasping in air that hardly seemed to fill her lungs.

There was a bright light ahead, and Damia focused only on that, turning a corner and tripping to a stop. There before her lay a low dome glowing green, a heavy thrumming another indication of the power beating within it. Otherwise, the room was empty and gave her no clues what to do.

Was this the generator she and Syuveil were supposed to have gone to, or had one of the others failed to reach their goal? Was it even a generator at all? She had no way to know, not now, but perhaps she could at least try to finish what they came here for; maybe, if she hurried, the city would be destroyed before that - that _fake_ caught up with her again.

Trying to fight away the panic and the pain in her lungs, she hefted her hammer as she ran toward the glowing dome, bringing it down hard. Again and again she hit at the device, but it didn't budge, or even scratch the surface. Dragging in a few hard breaths, Damia shook the weapon in frustration, and then gasped as the room began to shake. Gripping the metal rim that surrounded it with her free hand, she held on, keeping on her feet as the city trembled and debris began to fall from above.

She realized, feeling an odd flare of hope rising within her, that someone had probably destroyed one of the generators - but then how could she do the same? There had to be a way, as the others had gone out alone, and she could do it too! Dragoon power might break it, but if she transformed, she couldn't get away afterward. Maybe Stephen?

Damia turned her thoughts toward her vassal dragon, trying to catch the surly beast's attention, but both her concentration and her balance were broken by a hard blow from behind. Flung off her feet and thrown forward onto the dome, the girl cried out in surprise, scrambling across the smooth surface in an attempt to turn around.

She caught a glimpse of the mermaid there, and her heart flew into her throat; she could do no more than raise her hammer to deflect the next strike. With a sound like snapping leather, her mother's fin slapped her back again, her crimson eyes empty and her face emotionless. "Mom," she pleaded, fighting back the useless, childish tears. "Mom, stop!"

The woman's face softened briefly, her mouth moving soundlessly, and then finally her voice scraped past her lips once more. "Damia?"

Though the Dragoon had sat up again, readjusting clammy hands on the handle of her hammer, she didn't move to strike; she couldn't, her mind a swirl of memories, of the warm sea and the sound of a shell flute. Whether the Loreley woman had been forced to fight her not, she knew somehow that this was truly her mother come back again, and she couldn't bring herself to harm her.

Before she was even aware she'd made that decision, the chance had passed. The mermaid straightened up again, hovering above her half-breed daughter with arms raised, and Damia merely stared up at her, wide-eyed, as she brought down her hands.

Only soft, injured whimpers escaped when the icicles drove into her this time, the grinding whirr of the generator filling her ears as she collapsed into a sprawl across its top. Her hammer skittered away as she lost her grip on it, but in shock and pain, she couldn't make herself care. She couldn't even make herself move again, feeling tears trickling around the curves of her cheeks to be caught amongst the strands of her teal hair.

She stared upward at the ceiling so high above, hidden in the darkness beyond the equally shadowy crisscross of stone bridges, and imagined that she could see the sky beyond it, the sun rising over the Death Frontier with a brilliant burst of color. As Mayfil trembled, rubble beginning to pelt the dome beneath her, Damia's thoughts were only of the other Dragoons, wherever they were. Her chest and stomach ached, and she could barely feel the pieces of brick that were hitting her; the darkness descended, closing in like a fog, and she hoped they would forgive her for her failure.

* * *

The ridged steps clanked and shook beneath him as Belzac climbed further into the bowels of the Death City, the ladder obviously not made for someone of his size. He grimaced at the whine of metal giving way, looking down nervously and hoping it wasn't much further to the bottom. The sooner he was out of this shaft, the better - even if it hadn't been small enough to make him claustrophobic, the cold feeling of the white blobs of mist occasionally shooting upward around him caused him to shiver in terror he could barely repress.

Those were souls, once belonging to people who had been just as alive as him, but now they were here, stuck in the green-lit darkness with no choice but to be pulled as the Winglies willed, sorted and sent wherever they wanted them to go. _Stop this,_ Belzac berated himself. _You're almost there; the generator's not far now-_

Suddenly, the city trembled, shaking violently enough that he was forced to pause, clinging to the ladder. Were the dragons attacking the structure nearby, or had one of the others accomplished their goal? Before the tremors ceased, he could feel himself tilting backward, the whining screech worsening as bolts pulled away from the shaft's wall.

He was unable to stifle a startled cry, although it was cut off as the air suddenly left his lungs, forced out as his back hit the other wall behind him, the axe strapped there clanging loudly and sending a spasm of pain through him. The skin the Wingly's wind spell had torn away several days ago hadn't been healed magically, either, and the sudden tensing of muscle sent new twinges to join the rest.

Wedged into the narrow shaft and thus unable to fall, the half-Giganto drew in a long breath, letting it out slowly in relief, and clung onto one of the bent rungs until everything stopped shaking. "Well, then," he muttered to himself, trying not to watch the souls streaming past him as he carefully moved his feet against the opposite wall. Slowly, keeping his legs tense, he abandoned the ladder and began to 'walk' himself downward, pressing his arms against the other curved sides of the wall to slow his descent.

The open end of the shaft was not far below, and as he approached it, he let his legs relax, sliding easily the rest of the way and landing upright on the stone floor. Like most of the city, the room he landed in was black, lit only by a faint green glow, and he grimaced in annoyance at not being able to see. Funny how _knowing_ something was going to leap out and attack didn't make you any more prepared for it.

Still, he reached behind to tug his axe from its harness at his back, the weight in his hands comforting enough as he moved forward, aiming for the brightest concentration of light that he could find. Apart from the steady noise of his footfalls as he made his way carefully down the path, Belzac could hear a skittering sound in the background, something that reminded him of the clatter of dry, dead bones. It stopped when he did, but not exactly at the same moment, and he kept turning this way and that as he went to try to catch a glimpse of whatever it was.

On the other hand, he could feel more than hear Gleam's self-satisfied roar in his head as his vassal dragon destroyed more of the city above them. Another rumbling tremor shook Mayfil, stones plummeting from above, and he froze where he stood, cringing down and lifting his arms to protect his head. Some of the rocks seemed to fall past him on one side, not hitting the ground, and he gulped as he realized that the path he was on was likely more of a bridge.

_Oh, Soa._ Despite the fact that he could call on his Dragoon Spirit if he fell, the thought that he was walking on a precipice over an abyss in near-pitch blackness did not set well. Slowly, the floor stopped shaking, and, swallowing down the bile that had risen, he continued very warily toward the green glow that was brightening ahead.

Belzac could make out what was causing it now, seeing before him a wide, low dome set into the floor just inside another room; much to his relief, the floor ahead seemed to stretch all the way to the walls on each side. It was quite likely this was the generator, but rather than letting his guard down, he instead redoubled his watch, sure that there was something waiting here, guarding it.

"You might as well come out-" The large, shadowy shape that suddenly rose up before him blotted out some of the magical light, and Belzac drew back with a hiss of breath, raising his axe defensively. He blinked once, then twice, unable to believe what his eyes were telling him. "-_Dad_?"

It had been more than ten years since he'd last seen his father, Meior, but the figure of the Giganto merchant before him was nearly exactly as he remembered him. He was over a foot taller than his half-breed son, heavily muscled although he hadn't been a warrior in life, geometric red and black tattoos bedecking his bare arms and the sides of his neck.

Hit by the unwelcome rush of memories, he gritted his teeth, baring them in unconscious anger. _I didn't know he was dead! When - when was this? He left us, the bastard - he left us and didn't even have the decency to die where I could find out about it-_

The soul took a step further forward, and he realized that perhaps something had changed after all. Mayfil's ghastly green light highlighted skin that was much paler than the dark tan he remembered, now a sort of purple-gray; it played up the shadows that pooled beneath a thick brow, across high cheekbones. Bracing his foot behind him so he wouldn't retreat any further, Belzac nevertheless couldn't restrain a gasp of horror as he caught sight of the side of the man's head where his skull had been smashed in, where brain matter spilled like a burst pudding from the rent.

Retching and gasping to keep the contents of his stomach from doing the same, the Dragoon shook his head in denial. "W-what happened? What happened to you? Dad? What-"

For a moment, the man seemed to pause, his face screwing up into a frown of something like frustration before he let out a soft growl and his features relaxed into blankness. He made no response to the question, but rather took a step forward, moving toward his son.

Belzac fought to keep from backing up, his mind telling him that this couldn't be happening, that no one with a wound like that could be moving. _That's because he's dead, dead, dead, _he taunted himself, readjusting his grip on the battleaxe, lifting it higher. Meior had come and gone throughout his childhood, his visits more frequent at first as he taught Belzac the language of the Gigantos, but as the years had gone on, the visits had grown fewer and soon stopped altogether. Now he knew why…

"A-answer me," he forced out, trying to suppress the stupid quaver that tainted his voice. "Mom and I thought for years that you'd - you'd left us - I think we deserve to know what happened to you!" The soul halted again, shaking his broken head, and Belzac snapped, "Euri! Remember? Her name is Euri, and she loved you, even if she wasn't good enough for your godsdamned people for you to marry-"

Meior groaned suddenly, slumping forward, but Belzac didn't move, keeping the axe raised although he knew he really had no intention of bringing it down, at least not now. As angry and confused as he felt, the man before him was still - had been? - his father.

After a long moment, the Giganto pushed up straight again, resuming that cold, motionless stare; with no answers forthcoming, the Dragoon had finally had enough. "What do you want from me?" he snarled. "Tell me what's going on! Say something, damn you, or get out of my way!"

The man's sudden lunge took him off-guard, and his first instinctive reaction was to sweep inward with the blade to meet it. When he realized what would come of that, he tried to jerk sideways, twisting just away from the blow in an awkward motion, cursing himself for being so clumsy. Although he wasn't sure if the dead man would have been cut by the war-axe, he wasn't too inclined just yet to test it by slicing him open. Instead, he used the shaft of the axe to deflect the next barehanded strike before twisting it to drive the capped end of it hard into the larger man's stomach.

Grunting, Meior seemed to absorb the blow, feeling nothing, and with a scowl marring his face, Belzac quickly stepped back to avoid an overhand chop to the shoulder. It wasn't like fighting mist, at least on his side of things, but if he couldn't even drive him back, there wouldn't be an end to this useless battle.

Were the Winglies or the devils behind this, or were his words spurring on this attack? Despite his bitterness at having been abandoned, and the sudden shock of realizing that it had been meaningless, Belzac was sure that Meior wasn't trying to kill him on his own. His father had been kind, though distant, and very patient - and he had never really known how to fight.

Yet, if he was being controlled, the Dragoon couldn't see how, and he didn't have time to think about it further as a huge clenched fist drove straight for his nose. He turned his head at the last moment, the punch slamming hard into his cheekbone; half-healed skin broke open again beneath the blow, and he gasped with the pain as it blurred his vision. _This definitely isn't just a spirit, _he thought, astounded, as he sluggishly swung his axe up between them in defense. _This is flesh and blood! How can it be possible? He's obviously dead… I wish Rose had known something about this-_

"Dad, stop this!" he tried, aware of the growing warmth of his Dragoon Spirit next to his skin; once more, his opponent paused, groaning in an odd, disturbing manner as he shook his head. Not moments later, the structure of Mayfil shook beneath them as, somewhere, the second generator exploded, causing the two to stumble in order to stay upright. Pushing himself up straight again, he wondered if transforming would help anything, but before he could come to a decision, it was too late.

Taking advantage of the slight list the room was attaining, Meior leapt down toward him, kicking out for Belzac's knee. The armor padding there only absorbed a little of the tremendous jolt, and with a sharp curse he felt himself swiftly collapsing beneath the Giganto's weight, his battleaxe clattering against the stone of the walkway and then sliding further away as Mayfil tilted. Hands grabbed for his head as he went down, jerking him upward sharply enough that he felt a cracking of the bones in his neck, and then more sudden, spearing pain.

Not at all used to fighting someone larger than him, Belzac could only struggle as he was lifted further upright, trying frantically to get his good leg beneath him to ease the strain on his spine. Huge fingers pressed hard into the sides of his temples, enough to make him feel as though his skull was about to snap beneath the pressure. His own hands latching around Meior's wrists, he tried futilely to shove them away, a strangled cry escaping his lips.

The Giganto's cloudy irises contracted sharply, and Belzac could only watch helplessly as a white mist invaded his vision, until Mayfil's blackness was replaced by a blue Eastlands sky. Voices resolved themselves out of the roaring, pounding sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, and suddenly the Dragoon found he was watching from a distance, all the pain vanished, as his father approached two Winglies.

He remembered the place this odd vision was showing him, could even recognize the pale-haired foremen there; this was the plantation he'd grown up on, his old home as a slave. Unlike the broken, undead thing who'd just pummeled him, Meior appeared here as he once had, drawn up to his full eight-foot height, proud and unafraid of the wary Winglies as he stopped in front of them.

"Here, you're that Giganto merchant, aren't you?" one of the foremen finally said, scowling up at the man. "What's your business here? Merchant or no-"

The Wingly was interrupted brusquely by the jingle of a coin purse, his jaw dropping slightly as the Giganto upended it into his other palm, the glitter of gold pieces tumbling down into a small pile. He too spoke in the Winglies' language, which Belzac was a bit rusty on, although he could still make out the conversation. "Meior comes to buy family. Go, bring owner for paying as agreed."

Though they normally would have made fun of the clumsy way he spoke their language - the Giganto native tongue was very different from most others, and they had trouble translating fluently - these two Winglies weren't laughing. Obviously torn between anger at being commanded and the sight of the shining coins, they looked to each other briefly.

"A-all right," the first one said again. "I'll go get him. Don't run off." His wings sprouted from his back, and he lifted a short distance off the ground, making for the buildings not far away.

_What is this?_ Belzac thought, confused. _Dad, are you showing me-_

His fears were right; as he continued to look on, he saw the moving Wingly suddenly aim higher in the sky, raising a hand to his forehead in an unmistakable gesture as he looped back around. Storm winds picked up around them, the second foreman backing up quickly as the roaring gusts of a spell surrounded the merchant, battering at him forcefully.

Meior spun to face the airborne man, scowling and moving to tuck the money away again; although his embroidered, fur-edged clothing whipped around him, he appeared unharmed by the spell, the ring on one of his fingers sparking green. Gigantos were quite susceptible to magic, particularly the wind-element kind; those who went among Winglies often, and could afford to, wore items to protect them against it.

About to shout something up at his attacker, he realized, too late, that he'd turned his back on the other. Seizing a heavy wooden flail from where it lay nearby, the Wingly on the ground lunged forward, cracking the farming tool hard against the back of Meior's head. The huge man groaned, crumpling to his knees as blood began to well up from the wound, and the foreman struck him again as he toppled to the dirt, causing what looked like a large, ugly dent in his scalp.

"Archangel's tits!" the Wingly cursed up at the other, waving the bloody flail at him. "What'd you go and start that for?"

Touching back down, the man glanced to their victim, who was trying futilely to push back up to hands and knees. Gold pieces were scattered around him, sparkling on the road like twinkling stars. "C'mon, that half-breed does the work of three men and he's not even full-grown. We'll split the money, keep him working, and no one will be the wiser."

"But what if the other Gigantos find out, get after us? They ain't all soft merchants, as you well know."

"_No one_ will find out," the foreman stressed darkly. "He could've died anyplace, right? Here, gimme that." He snatched the flail from the other's hand, swinging it hard once more for Meior's skull.

The vision descended sharply into blackness, sudden enough that Belzac, astounded by what he'd just seen, let out a startled gasp. The pain had not returned, and neither had his surroundings; for a moment, he just existed in that void, until a voice spoke to him.

He recognized the deep, lyrical timbre before he could make out what his father was saying. It had been a long time since he'd heard the Giganto language, much less tried to speak it, so he didn't respond, merely letting the shifting tones wash over him as they once had, years ago, when he was still learning how to understand.

_"-can hear me. There is little time. A devil rests on my back and has stolen my will, forcing me to fight you. Destroy it to end this, Belzac."_

"Dad, what-" he finally murmured back in the Human tongue, "I don't know - any of it - how are you-"

_"There is little time,"_ he repeated. _"You have come far, and I will not be the end of your fight. The life I was granted is temporary, given only that I might stop you. Destroy the devil, and you will avenge my death on the Winglies with their downfall."_

The Dragoon drew in a deep breath, feeling it fill his lungs now, the sharp pain suddenly surging back through him as physical sensation returned. However Meior's spirit had managed to make contact with him, the connection was obviously unraveling. "A-all right-"

_"I am already proud,"_ came the faint mental whisper, and then Belzac blinked, staring back up at his father's impassive, shadowed features. A moment later, he relaxed his hands, letting the younger man go as he collapsed to the floor, toppling in an eerie echo of what had happened years ago.

Confused and taken aback by what had just happened, and what he had learned, Belzac tried to step backward and ended up falling as his knee refused to hold him. Turning to try to catch himself, he winced as the pounding of his head merged with the sharp pain jabbing upward through his leg. Despite that, he felt about quickly for his axe, finding it behind him on the tilted walkway. Smacking his hand down on its metal handle and hauling it back, he lurched forward on his good leg, using the axe as a temporary crutch until he got a good look at just what was going on.

Unsure what he was even looking for, he soon realized that it was impossible to miss: a large, spiky gray form seemed to rest on the top of Meior's shoulderblade. He peered down at it, frowning as two odd randomly-set eyes blinked back up at him almost maliciously.

His lip curling in disgust, Belzac knelt on his good knee in order to lift his axe again, prodding at the 'devil', if such it was, with the blunt end of the weapon. "Soa…" he breathed. _It's looking at me! _The gray mass shuddered slightly in response, soft and gelatinous, and in a quick, reflexive motion, he turned the battleaxe, bringing the blade down hard on the little thing.

The waves of multicolored light that had begun to spill from it petered out, black gunk oozing from the slice. Belzac chopped at it again with an angry snarl, splitting it nearly in half, and bit his lip against rising bile at the smell of it, not to mention the sight of a pierced diabolical eyeball spewing forth its fluid. Trying not to pay attention to the reactive jerks of his father's body beneath it, he dropped the axe once more and grabbed for the ichor-smeared pieces of the thing that remained attached, tearing them from Meior's back.

Dark, venous connective tissue pulled taut and snapped, ripping away from the Giganto's skin; he hissed at the throbbing, burning sensation as the reddish-black gunk coated his fingers, but he continued to hastily pull the pieces free, noting with relief that the strange purple tint was fading away from the other man's skin.

Belzac swiped his hands against his vest in an attempt to wipe off the devil's blood before reaching out. "Dad?" He tried to turn the prone form, shoving at his shoulder. "It's gone - are you-?" He jerked his hand back quickly when he felt the flesh give way, crumbling beneath his fingers like a clod of dirt. "What-?"

_Temporary life,_ he realized, backing up as best he could as a warm light began to shine beneath the crumbling skin, highlighting the deep cracks which had formed in the body as if it was made of dried mud. After a moment, it flared brightly, and he covered his eyes - and within another moment, it gathered itself into a ball, flickered, and was gone, as was the figure of Meior, leaving only the goopy mess of the devil in pieces on the brick.

Cursing, Belzac flexed his fingers with some effort, the burn of the blood having stiffened them, and then he shook his head hard to ward off the tears. He had a job to do here, and it didn't involve mourning a man who had died nearly ten years ago. That, he figured, could come later, now that resentment had been replaced with sorrow. _In the meantime, I'll help make sure that the Winglies can't control you anymore-_

He called on his Dragoon Spirit, feeling the familiar golden armor forming around him, and exhaled as his wings lifted him off the ground; the pain of his knee was easing somewhat now without his weight to aggravate it. With a strong flap of gauzy white, he shot off toward the dome just ahead, readjusting his grip on the axe. Something would have to break through its protection, he figured, and he might as well try what he was best at first.

Experimentally, he focused his energy toward the weapon he held, and the edge of the axe's blade began to glow a golden-orange in response as he swung it down hard against the dome. Much to his surprise, it seemed to give beneath the strike, bright green sparks of energy flying up. "That easy?" he murmured, rising up before lunging downward once more. Of course, the Winglies likely hadn't anticipated any other species acquiring the magic and power to break through to the generators when they had been put in place.

He attacked the dome repeatedly until the feedback of power massing around the cracks sputtered against him, knocking him back. The opaque material was obviously giving way to the force that lay beneath it; it was time to go. Twisting as he shoved off against the wide metal rim, Belzac flew upward into the blackness, aiming back the way he'd come, toward the presence of his vassal dragon waiting somewhere above.

Not just rocks, but huge twisted chunks of metal and stones were falling around him, and he raised one arm to shield his face, feeling the little twinges against his cheeks and neck as pebbles and debris pinged off his armor. Perhaps he should find Shirley, make sure she was all right- _No, I shouldn't._ She had been the first of the Dragoons, the first of them with powers, including that of healing. Of all of them right now, he had to believe that she could take care of herself, no matter how worried he was about her.

There were still Syuveil and Damia to consider, anyway. After how the scholar had been affected by what had happened with his dragon, he couldn't be sure both of them were all right, even though they had gone together in this city of death. And then there was Rose, who was also waiting for their help. However, as the generator exploded behind him, shockwaves sending him hurtling ever faster though the falling rubble, he could only wonder if he would be able to locate _any_ of them at all…


End file.
